


Nothing Is As It Seems

by GeorginoschkaVincen



Series: The SuperWhoLockverse that never was [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock - Fandom, Supernatural, Superwholock - Fandom
Genre: Adventure, Demons, Drama, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Sherlock - Freeform, Supernatural - Freeform, Superwholock, doctor who - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-10
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-03 09:59:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 132,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/380146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeorginoschkaVincen/pseuds/GeorginoschkaVincen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A man from the sky, searching for his blue box.<br/>Two brothers who hunt demons while trying to find a cure for the Angel by their side.<br/>A doctor who solves crimes together with the most brilliant detective, until the crimes turn out to be more than human acts of violence.</p><p>Everything starts to change.<br/>Nothing is as it seems.</p><p>Moriarty is real, and he has plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> You can see this as a kind of project. I've totally wanted to write a Superwholock fanfic, so here it is.  
> Maybe I'll add other fandoms as well(but not as greater roles...whatever,you'll see ;) )
> 
> As you can see, the parings are not chosen yet.  
> That's because I am not 100% sure if it would be wise to have all of them in one fic.  
> I will see what you readers think and where the story goes.

_“Someone will die, someone will survive  
The angel will fall when the devil rises  
  
A sacrifice will be made  
  
The truth will be told but a lie will destroy the trust  
The journey will begin and the hunt will never end  
  
Love will change the meaning of things  
  
The universe will be in danger when the fire burns the shadow  
The drums will be silenced”_  
  
But most important:  
Nothing is as it seems  
  
  
 **Prologue**  
  
He walked down the corridor, his eyes searching for the milk. _Milk, again._  
  
Sometimes John wondered where the hell all the milk ended up.  
  
He never saw Sherlock drinking milk, neither did he use it for his experiments, so maybe it disappeared on its own in order to tease John. Of course there was no sense behind that since milk was unable to disappear on its own.  
  
John sighed as he walked along the row of shelves. The market was full of people, as if now was the best and only time to go shopping for whatever you needed.  
  
Mothers with noisy children, men and women with baskets and carts full of groceries. A small child ran past John, the small arms thrown up in the air. "Chocolate, chocolate!"  
  
The child was all eager, the small eyes gleaming as it ran past the corner and John had to think of Sherlock, who was as eager about murder and crimes as this child about chocolate.  
  
"Go and get some milk, John." Sherlock had said while lying on the couch, his hands pressed together in front of his chest; his thinking posture. "I can't think when you're around, you're too noisy, so if you wouldn't mind-"  
  
John rolled his eyes and shook his head; sometimes it was really difficult to live in the same flat as Sherlock Holmes. Most of time John didn't mind the detective's behavior, but sometimes it was tiring. It was like dealing with child, a really stubborn child. Oh well..  
  
"Are you serious? This shit ain't gonna last two days!"  
  
John raised his eyebrows as he heard the american accent floating over the rows of the store.  
  
"I know man, but it is better than nothing." The voice was hushed, clearly trying to get less attention. John didn't mean to listen, it just happened. "We still have enough salt in the trunk."  
  
"Yeah, guess you're right..." The deeper voice trailed off. "You think they have any good pie in here? I would die for a piece." A sigh was to be heard, and John was almost sure he could see the other person shaking its head. "We had breakfast two hours ago!"  
  
A growl was to be heard, and John carefully rounded the corner. He wasn't even sure why he was so tense; maybe because of all the things he had seen and heard while being around Sherlock and all the crimes? If John Watson knew one thing for sure then it was that you could never be too careful...  
  
Two men stood next to the shelf with the salt. One of them was really tall, at least one and a half head taller than John, if not even two heads, and John was sure he was even taller than Sherlock, and Sherlock wasn't small. The man had long brown hair and kind eyes, but something about him seemed dark. John wasn't sure what it was, but it was as if this man had endured more than other men, more than even John, the army doctor.  
  
Next to him stood a smaller man with short hair, which had the color of dirty blonde. He wore a dark brown leather jacket which looked rather old, and his eyes were soft with the color of green, or maybe hazel. John noticed that he had freckles.  
  
Both of their heads turned to John as he walked around the corner.  
  
For a several seconds they just stood there,looking at each other, neither saying a word. John's eyes wandered to the basket in the arms of the long haired man and he noticed that there was a lot of salt in that basket, not just a few packets but almost the whole stock.  
  
"Hey buddy, searching for something?" The green eyed man asked, sounding wary. His voice was rough and friendly but his body was tense as if he was ready to jump at John - if necessary. The long haired gave his partner a small glance"Dean...." Then he turned to John. "Sorry, my brother." John was sure he would wave his hand if he could, but at the moment he seemed busy with holding the basket in both of his hands.  
  
"I was just passing by." John explained. Not that he needed to explain anything, but he felt like saying something. "Milk." He lifted his basket to show that he was, as well, shopping here.  
  
Somehow this seemed to calm the green eyed, Dean, who even smiled at John. "Milk's over there." He nodded with his head to his left.  
  
John smiled as well "I think I know where to find the milk, but thank you."  
  
The taller one chuckled, clearly amused, and Dean looked startled for one moment until he seemed to realize that John must be living somewhere nearby, which meant he had to know this store and where to find the milk. "Oh yeah, sorry man." Dean gave his brother an angry glance, then he turned around, muttering something to himself.  
  
John was sure the conversation was over now, but Dean raised his voice once more. "You know where to find good pie?"  
  
John furrowed his brow. Well, surely not here since this was only a normal supermarket. "Down the street is a bakery." He informed them.  
  
The long haired brother nodded thankfully while Dean was busy with something else. "Thank you, we'll take a look."  
  
That was it. John would have never thought he would see them again.  
  
But he would.  
  
The Impala stood out, and John had no other choice but noticing the car as he went out of the store. It was chilly outside, a bit rainy, but that was nothing new.  
  
The car was black and shiny, looking like a fresh new car.  
  
John raised his eyebrows as he crossed the street, his eyes on the car. Someone had to love this car more than anything.  
  
There was a person inside, a man, John noticed him as he walked past the car to get on the sidewalk. The man was pale and had circles under his eyes, his dark brown hair almost black in the dim light of the afternoon.  
  
He was asleep, or at least he had his eyes closed, a beige colored blanket covering him up to his chin. It wasn't a blanket, John noticed as he took a closer look; it was a trench coat.  
  
John really didn't mean to be rude, and of course he never intended to stare, but the man seemed to have noticed him because suddenly the eyes flew open.  
  
They were blue, so blue that John took a step backwards.  
  
Sherlock's eyes had had the same effect on him, as he had seen them for the first time.  Even now John was amazed by Sherlock's eyes, because they never seemed to have the same color; sometimes they were blueish, sometimes they were grayish, and sometimes even greenish.  
  
Those eyes of the man in the car were different; they seemed to glow with something that John couldn't describe, something unnatural,something not human.  John was stunned by his own thoughts, and the man behind the window glass fixed him with those blue eyes as if he knew something that John didn't.  
  
John wasn't afraid, no, but he knew that something was not right.  
  
He should move. Sherlock was waiting, or so John told himself. Sherlock was probably busy with deducing, milk or John was nothing he was waiting for. Probably.  
  
John took a deep breath as he turned around.  
  
He could feel the eyes of the man on his back, following him until he turned around the corner of the street.  
  
John was not sure why his heart was racing, but something told him that something was wrong. Wrong in a bad or a good way, he wasn't sure.  
  
He was deep in thoughts, and so he didn't notice the running man until someone bumped into him. John stumbled, nearly loosing his footing, his eyes wide in surprise.  
  
"Oh, I am so sorry."  
  
John turned his head, not sure if he should be angry or not.  
  
The man was running again, skinny legs carrying him down the street. John didn't see much more of the man, only a shock of wild brown hair and a brown coat.  
  
The voice had sounded panic-struck, breathless, and John asked himself if the man was followed by anyone, or if he tried to catch someone.  
  
Whatever it was ,it was none of his business.  
  
 _My life_ , John Watson told himself with a stern voice, _is chaotic enough._  
  
So he forgot the stranger, all of them, pushed them aside and thought of Sherlock and their case.  
  
Oh,but there was more chaos to come,...  
  
Not only for John Watson and Sherlock Holmes.  
  
Not only for Dean and Sam Winchester and Castiel.  
  
Not only for the man known as the Doctor.  
  
 _Watch the shadows_  
Hunt the demons  
Pray for forgiveness  
Let go of what has already been lost


	2. The music is too loud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two hunters and an Angel on their way to the morgue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this update was fast xD It's because I have holidays now, but I guess it will slow down when school begins again, so don't worry if it takes some time ;)

_"We're coming back. We're coming back and everything will be okay again.I promise, just...Hang on, kay?"  
  
And he so waited, patiently, for the brothers to return.  
Most of the time he spent in a coma like state.  
Just him and his brother, inside his head.  
It wasn't nice.  
It really wasn't.  
He didn't want to think about it ever again.  
  
When he woke up he was alone.  
  
Time was different here on earth, passing by so slowly, so slowly...  
His brother was laughing, a lot, because he had fun.  
  
He was okay, better than before, even now with his brother at his side, inside his mind.  
It was his own fault, all of this, he knew that, and so he would endure whatever he had to endure.  
  
He was okay, he was fine.  
  
The humans couldn't understand him and not even Meg could stop them from wondering what was wrong with him.  
He never ate, he never slept, he never talked - because there was no need to.  
They just gave him more pills.  
As if that would solve anything.  
  
He was no human, but they didn't know.  
They didn't believe.  
For them he was just another mentally ill patient.  
  
Angels? Demons?Lucifer?  
Not real, not for them.  
  
But, he was okay.  
Dean had promissed to come back for him, and he would.  
If Castiel believed in one person, besides his father, then it was Dean Winchester.  
Dean would keep his word.  
Castiel was sure.  
  
They returned for him, two months later almost immediately after Meg had called them, but it felt like years of waiting.  
  
Horrible, horrible years of waiting..._  
  
 **Chapter 1**  
  
The music was too loud.  
  
Dean hummed, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel, his eyes on the road. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see Sam, who was gazing out the passenger window. Dean knew that Sam was annoyed, Dean's music wasn't his favourite stuff to listen to, but Dean gave a damn about that.  
  
His car, his rules.  
  
Dean's eyes went up to the rearview mirror. Castiel was silent, his eyes closed while his trench coat covered him like a blanket. He looked kinda pale, but then again, when didn't he?  
  
The angel had changed...But who could blame him?He had spent more than two month in a mental hospital and fucking Lucifer was messing with his head all the time.  
  
Dean really didn't want to know what had happened inside Castiel's head while he had been comatose, and he also didn't want to know what kind of pills they had given him each and every day.  
  
If Castiel was a human, he would be dead already, but lucky him and his angel mojo. Dean bit his lower lip as he tried to focus his attention on the street. But even his damn angel mojo was no big help.  
  
Great. Fucking great.  
  
Team Free Will together once again.  
  
"So,...England." Sam said, carefully, as if he wasn't sure what to think about their new case.  
  
This was new. They had never been anywhere else than America.  
  
Why now?  
  
Dean had no clue. Maybe it was because they were sick and tired of all the shit that had happened back there, maybe they needed fresh air to start anew..  
  
To be honest, Dean didn't even remember how their attention went from demons in America to demons in Britain. He vaguely remembered Sam showing him something about dead people being found in London, people with holes in their chests and burned eyes.  
 _  
"Whatever that was-"_ Sam had said while looking at the screen of his Laptop, his brow furrowed. _"- it's bad._ "  
  
Hunting demons in London....Dean wasn't sure what to think of that.  
  
London was a capital city, with people, a lot of people, and guys with guns would get their attention. It wasn't as if it was legal to carry a gun in London, playing hide and seek with demons...  
  
"We need salt." Sam informed him, eyeing him. He nearly yelled because the music was too loud.  
  
Dean sighed as he pulled the steering wheel to the right and turned into a side street. "Guess you're right."  
  
Actually they didn't lack salt, but better too much salt than not enough.  
  
 _And_ , Dean thought with a small grin, _we can get some pie._  
  
...  
  
It took them one and a half hour to get the damn salt and the pie. It was worth it, though, because the pie was really damn good.  
  
Now, another hour later, they sat in the Impala, fully dressed in their FBI suits.  
  
"Are you satisfied now?" Sam asked, his chin on his folded hands while he watched Dean. The pitch of his voice was all bitchy again.  
  
Dean rolled his eyes and clapped his hands. "Yeah. So c'mon now, we have a job to do, right?"  
  
Sam snorted, half way of saying something, but he seemed to catch himself because he closed his mouth again and kept quiet.  
  
Dean turned his head around to look at Castiel, who returned his gaze with solemn eyes. "What about you, buddy? Wanna stay here in the Impala?"  
  
Castiel tilted his head, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Why, Dean?" He asked, his voice low and smooth, questioning. "You know as well as I do that Lucifer won't leave me alone, no matter if I stay in this car or go with you." He dropped his gaze. "I am not useless."  
  
Dean felt a pang of guilt. Of course, he should have known. "Yeah, sorry man, I just thought you want to rest a bit or something.." Not that Castiel needed to rest, he was an Angel, if there was anything he didn't need then it was rest, but again, the circumstances were different.  
  
Maybe you didn't notice it at first, and or course you didn't notice anything if you didn't know Castiel as well as Dean did, but Castiel was worn out.  
  
His body language, his eyes, his voice, everything was different.  
  
Yes, Castiel was an Angel, he was powerful, he had his mojo, but... This, Lucifer, it was inside his head, driving him mad, and it was his soul that got exhausted. It was hard, even for an Angel. Maybe especially for an Angel, since he had to cope with Lucifer all 24 hours a day. It had to be tiring.  
  
"Okay, then we gotta go now." Dean said, a big grin on his lips.  
  
He didn't really feel like smiling, but fuck that.  
  
Things had happened in the past, very bad things, fuck, all of this was so fucked up, and Dean was tired of being angry and sad and disappointed.  
  
The air was chilly and it was rainy. Dean didn't care all to much.  He wasn't a fan of cold and chilly weather, but he could deal with it. Hell, he had dealt with much worse than bad weather...  
  
The morgue wasn't any better with his cold white walls and the tiled floor. Dean had really seen nicer places, and he knew at least 10 places where he would like to be instead. Including his Impala.  
  
"So, you are the FBI agents that called?" The gray haired man with the age somewhere around the end of forty looked them up and down, his brow furrowed. He didn't seem convinced at all and was watching them with keen dark brown eyes.  
  
They stood in front of the closed iron double door - the door to the room with the corpses.  
  
"Yes. " Sam smiled one of his best charming smiles and held out his hand. He gave Dean a quick glance, and Dean and Castiel pulled out their FBI identification cards. This time Castiel managed to hold it up the right way. Dean could swear he saw the man raising an eyebrow.  
  
"You're sure they are real? I think I saw that name somewhere before..."  
  
"Lestrade, right?" Dean asked, pushing Sam aside. "Well, those names are really common in America."  
  
Lestrade eyed him, clearly wary, but nodded anyway. "Yeah, right. May I ask..." He cleared his throat. "Why exactly is the FBI interested in this case?"  
  
"We had identical incidents in Illinois." Sam said. Castiel, after hesitation and a glare from Sam, nodded in agreement. "We were told that the murderer probably moved to London, continuing his crime."  
  
Lestrade gave them another wary glance and Dean couldn't blame him; this story wasn't really believable.  
  
"Really?..." He asked, slowly.  
  
Castiel nodded slowly in return.  
  
"Interesting..." Lestrade trailed off. Dean had the feeling that he wasn't convinced, and that was why he casually asked "Could we take a look at the bodies now?"  
  
Lestrade took a deep breath and shrugged his shoulders. "Yes, yes, of course. But, I can assure you, it will leave you as clueless as before."  
  
Dean raised one eyebrow while they followed the inspector through the iron door. "Excuse me-" He asked while falling into step with the Englishman."- but why do you assume that?"  
  
Lestrade chuckled drily but didn't turn to face Dean. "Believe me, one of our best man is currently on the case and he hasn't got a single clue." His voice was deadly serious and so was his face.  
  
"Well, you never know." Sam replied, trying to lighten the mood. "Maybe we see something that he hasn't?"  
  
At that, Lestrade actually laughed out. "Oh boys, believe me one thing; if Sherlock Holmes doesn't find a hint, you won't be able to find one either."  
  
At that, Dean and Sam stopped dead in track, causing Castiel to accidentaly walk into Dean, who stared at Lestrade as if he was mad.  
  
"Sherlock?" He asked, amused but also surprised. "You mean THE Sherlock Holmes?"  
  
Lestrade turned around, surprised as well. "Well, I only know this one. You know him too?"  
  
Dean gulped, his eyes meeting Sam's, who didn't seem to be sure if he should laugh or be shocked.  
  
"Who is this Sherlock man?" Castiel asked, puzzled and with a naivety that only children possessed, his eyes wandering from Dean over Sam to Lestrade. Again, the poor idiot didn't get it.  
  
Why on earth didn't they have a single good book or movie up there in heaven? It had to be really boring up there.  
  
"Oh,never mind." Dean waved off, but Lestrade smiled almost kindly. "He is one of the best detectives I've known. He solved every crime that had to be solved." To Dean, this man sounded as if he was talking about his own son.  
  
"Uh, really great, but, could we go on now?" The older Winchester urged, pushing Castiel forwards, who eyed Lestrade with questioning eyes as if he wanted to hear more about the famous detective Sherlock Holmes.  
  
They reached the steel tables with the covered bodies. Three bodies.  
  
"Oh, hello." A women with a ponytail of long brown hair greeted them shyly. She had warm brown eyes and no make up on her face. She was beautiful but didn't seem to realise it. She was way too shy to notice her beauty, Dean guessed.  
  
"Ahm, so, here are the bodies." She waved with her hands, actually with her arms too, in the direction of the bodies, an unsure smile on her face. "Oh, and I am Molly Hooper." She reached out with her hand towards Sam, but then she caught the look on Lestrade's face and hastily withdrew her hand. "So, uh...Can I help you,somehow?"  
  
Dean nodded and gave her a smile, which caused Molly to turn read all over her face. "Yes, actually we would like to have a look on the bodies, if you wouldn't mind."  
  
Molly's face fell and she turned somewhat pale, her face becoming all serious. "Yes, yes sure, sorry."  
  
Dean didn't mean to sound bossy, his voice had been friendly and calm, but Molly seemed to be used to get kicked around because she ducked her head a little bit and her shoulders hunched forward.  
   
She pushed the white sheets off of the bodies and took several steps aside to stand next to Lestrade. Her face was turned into a pained grimace as her gaze lingered on one of the bodies. It was a child in the age around twelve.  
  
Dean, Sam and Castiel began to examine the bodies while Molly and Lestrade watched them silently.  
  
Lestrade had been right, there was not much to tell about the bodies, besides that they all had a hole in their chest, right where the heart was. The heart itself looked as if it had been burned with fire. Dean wrinkled his nose as he continued to look the body up and down. This one was a women in her late twenties with blonde hair and a round face. Her eyes had been burned out, leaving only two dark holes in her head. Dean had seen something like this before, but he doubted that the burned eyes were the work of an Angel this time.  
  
"What do you think?" Sam whispered as he leaned over the body of the blonde women.  
  
"What I think?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow. "I think this is sick man."  
  
"I hope they weren't alive while he burned them.." Castiel mused while standing next to Dean, a look of sorrow in his blue eyes as if he had known the people on the cold steel tables. "It is really unpleasant."  
  
"Dude." Dean groaned, once again amazed by Castiel's perfect timing sense. "Please try to leave your usefull comments for later when we're alone and not under people who could hear you."  
  
Castiel nodded thoughtfully, mumbling something like "Of course." and was silent again.  
  
Dean noticed the haunted look in Castiel's eyes. He had the feeling that Lucifer was bothering Castiel again, because the Angel had his brow furrowed and his left arm slung around his middle as if to cuddle himself.  
  
A weird position, especially for Castiel, and especially in public. Suddenly Dean was glad that Castiel stood with his back to Molly and Lestrade.  
  
Though, Dean silently wondered if Castiel had done that all the months until Dean and Sam got him out of the hospital. Cuddling himself, rocking back and forth all alone, no one to talk to him, no one to calm him down...  
  
He really had to think of something else now, or his guilt would kill him from the inside or turn him into a weeping girl.  
  
 _Great, always when I need it._  
  
But, then again, hadn't it been Castiel's own fautl that he had ended up there? If he hadn't destroyed Sam's walls-  
  
"So, anything?" Lestrade's voice cut through Dean's thoughts and he was glad for it.  
  
"No." Dean shook his head and turned around to the inspector and the pathologist. "You were right, nothing to be found besides the fact that it was murder."  
  
Lestrade shrugged his shoulders as if to say : see, I told you so.  "So, what now?"  
  
"Maybe you should ask Sherlock." Molly suggested with her small voice, nervously wringing her hands.  
  
Lestrade rolled his eyes "I don't think that Sherlock-" he emphasized the name heavily "- would cooperate with the FBI."  
  
Molly lowered her head and mumbled "But he would cooperate with everyone if it was for a case." but Lestrade didn't seem to have heard her because he went on. "Sorry, but I told you that this would be no help."  
  
Dean and Sam smiled politely, waving off, while Castiel continued to stand with his back to them. "It's okay." Sam assured."It just means that we have to search elsewhere for any clues."  
  
Lestrade led them out of the building, talking to Sam who listened seemingly interested. Meanwhile Dean walked next to Molly, who looked everywhere but at Dean.  
  
"So..."Dean began, and Molly flinched as if he had slapped her.  
  
"Yes?"She turned her head to him, her brown eyes questioning.  
  
"You said Sherlock Holmes could help us?" She lowered her gaze again, the enthusiasm leaving her body again. Maybe she had hoped to hear something else?  
  
"Yes. He is..He is really good, you know? Haha, not..Not good in..Oh, I mean, he is good in what he is doing, uhm, being detective..." She trailed off and bit her lower lip in embarrassment.  
  
"I've figured that out." Dean laughed softly, trying to lighten the mood. "So, could you give me the adress?I think it would be usefull to talk to him."  
  
"Uh, of course." Molly nodded hastily and absently twirled a strand of hair around her middle finger. "221 Baker street."  
  
"Thank you." Dean smiled again, and Molly turned red. "You are welcome."  
  
They parted at the entrance door, waving good bye.  
  
"You have beautiful hair, by the way." Dean winked at Molly, who turned red all over again, nearly having a heart attack. "Dean." Sam rolled his eyes in annoyance and pulled Dean towards the Impala.  
  
"What?" Dean asked, freeing himself of the grip of his brother. "I've just wanted to be nice to her."  
  
"Yeah, sure." Sam snorted. "And we all know where your 'nice' ends."  
  
"Where?" Castiel asked with his serious voice from behind, and Dean had to grin.  
  
They made their way to the Impala. It had stopped raining and the streets were wet.  
  
"So,we have no clue, do we?" Sam asked as he sat down on the passenger seat.  
  
Dean closed the door and sighed. "No, not a single one, besides that this has to be the work of a demon...Or of a really really sick guy."  
  
They sat there, staring at the street.  
  
"I think we should visit this Sherlock." Castiel offered, because no one said a word. His voice was low.  
  
Dean turned around to face the Angel, his brow furrowed. "I don't know, maybe we should go back to the Hotel first?"  
  
Castiel narrowed his eyes. "Why?"  
  
Dean shrugged, feeling uncomfortable under the intense stare of the other man. "Dunno man, but look, I saw you in the morgue and I know that Lucifer-"  
  
"My brother-" Castiel interrupted him, his voice sharp "- is none of your concern anymore, Dean."  
  
They both stared at each other. If looks could kill, both of them would be dead already. Twice.  
  
"Don't say that." Sam said from next to Dean. He looked concerned.  
  
"Look, if we can help-" Dean began, but again Castiel interrupted him. "No Dean, you can't help." And somehow those words did really hurt.  
  
Castiel must have noticed the pained expression in Dean's eyes, because he continued with a much gentler voice. "It's okay Dean, I don't mind. I just don't want to keep you from doing your work."  
  
Dean sighed heavily and reached out to put his hand on Castiel's shoulder, who flinched just ever so slightly.  
  
"Hey man, nothing, you hear me, nothing is more important than the health of my family."  
  
Castiel's eyes were wide and blue and a tiny smile was to be seen on his lips, just a really tiny one that stayed there for a few seconds until Castiel replied.  
  
"Just give me the bottle with the pills and go on. We don't have much time."  
  
 _For you_ , Dean thought as he reached for the bottle in the glove box, _for you I would take all the time we need._  
  
But he said nothing else as he handed Castiel the bottle, and neither did Sam, but Dean could see the worried gaze of his brother.  
  
Dean rubbed his left hand over his face, with the right hand he turned the music on.  
  
The music was too loud, again, but Dean needed it that way.  
  
"Off to visit Mr. Holmes." He yelled, and Sam actually pressed his hands against his ears, his face scrunched into a grimace. "Turn the music down!"  
  
"Make me , bitch." Dean grinned.  
  
"Jerk." Was the reply.


	3. Look who's coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone is visiting John and Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly have no clue what's the matter with me xD I think I've missed the writing and that's why I suddenly write so much. Yeah, guess that's the reason.  
> But maybe I just love SuperWhoLock too much.  
> Thanks for reading this story, by the way :) Never thought it would get the attention of anyonexD  
> Whatever, here you go!

_His TARDIS.  
Where was his TARDIS?  
She had been here, exactly here, on this spot, in front of the bakery._

_So, where was she?_

_No contact to her, nothing.  
She was gone, somewhere, and he had no clue where she was.  
His TARDIS..._

_He had never felt more miserable._

_Weeell, okay, he had felt more miserable, several times in fact, but the fact that his TARDIS was somewhere without him frightened him._

_He would find her. He would find his TARDIS.  
She had to be somewhere.  
He just had to look for her - everywhere._

_But, it would be difficult to find her if he was alone.  
And it would be difficult to find her if she didn't want to be found.  
Didn't she want to be found, or did someone else hide her from him?_

_Maybe he should ask someone for help?_

_But who would help_ _ him _ _?  
Maybe it was time to find a new companion, now, after all this time he had spent alone..._

_Naah, nahh, that wasn't a good idea...He knew where it would end._

_He should ask an old friend for help._

**Chapter 2**

"Sherlock?"Sherlock continued to stare out of the window, deep in thoughts. He was somewhere in his mind palace. "Sherlock, I have asked you a question." John sat down on the chair in front of his Laptop. Well, their Laptop, Sherlock used it all the time.

Sherlock sighed, folding his hands and placed them on his knees. "I am thinking, John." He replied with his deep voice, eyeing John as if to say: Can't you see I am busy? I don't need your presence at the moment, so please be quiet, thank you very much. Actually, that was what he would say if he wasn't all busy with thinking.

John took a deep breath through his nose and sipped at his tea. He was busy writing his blog. "So, John, tell me, do you have any idea what the murderer wants?" Sherlock asked, his cat-like eyes fixed on John, who raised his hands as if to say; don't ask me, I am just an ordinary army doctor who lives in the same flat as the most brilliant detective of all times.

"No Sherlock,I have no idea. I assume it isn't because he has fun burning the heart out of people."

Sherlock jumped up, causing John to nearly spill his tea over the keyboard. "But, it is! Don't you see it, John!"

"See what?" John asked, confused. "What am I supposed to see? Please remember that I don't have your detective-senses..."

Sherlock snorted as he plumped down on the sofa. Of course John would say something like that. "You don't need any detective-senses to see it." The detective smiled, his eyes reflecting the dim light from outside, and once more he looked like a cat.

"He has fun." Sherlock explained, putting his elbows on his knees while he leaned forward to look at John, who raised an eyebrow. "This is fun for him."

"Him?" John asked blankly, sipping at his tea once again. "So you're sure it is a man?"

Sherlock nodded and leaned back again. He enjoyed the way John looked like, totally confused and not having a single clue. Ah, normal human beings... But, Sherlock had to admit, John was different. He knew more than others, and if he wanted to he could be really clever. Not as clever as Sherlock, of course, but clever enough to solve cases together with a detective.

Sherlock was all jumpy because he was excited about the case, and that was why he couldn't sit still.

"I think I probably know who our murderer is." He said while he twiddled his thumbs. Well, actually he was quite sure.

"You do?" John asked. Now he was really baffled, Sherlock knew it by the way John furrowed his brow, but a knock was heard before Sherlock could explain anything. What a shame!

"Not **now** , Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock bellowed, clearly annoyed that someone was interrupting his brilliant explanation.

"But dear-" Mrs. Hudson's voice floated through the air like music. "- There is a nice looking young man who insists to talk to you."

Sherlock growled and rolled his eyes. "But I am busy!"

There was a pause, a pause where Mrs. Hudson was talking to the stranger, then Mrs. Hudson answered "But he says it is important. He says it is something about a missing telephone box."

Within mere seconds Sherlock was up from the sofa and at the door, knocking aside the sofa cushion on his way to the door which he pulled open with such a force that he nearly yanked it out the door hinges.

"Where is he?" He asked urgently and grabbed Mrs. Hudson by her shoulders, startling the poor woman. "Where is the Doctor?"

And that was when John let go of his cup, spilling tea over the wooden floor. "The Doctor?" Sherlock heard him saying faintly from the other end of the room. " _The_ Doctor?"

"Doctor?" Mrs. Hudson asked, clearly confused. "What sort of doctor?"

A chuckle was heard and now Sherlock could see the lanky man in a brown suit who was leaning against the banister.

He hadn't changed one bit.

"Hello, Sherlock." The Doctor said calmly, his smile fading slowly, his hands staying in the pockets of his coat. He still looked the same; he still had those big brown eyes, warm eyes, and his hair still had a life of its own. Though, Sherlock noticed that he looked tired. Not tired in a way of needing sleep, more tired in the way of being tired of life.

"Okay, I think I leave you three alone now." Mrs. Hudson said and smiled kindly, then she walked down the stairs.

"You have not changed." Was the first thing Sherlock said after Mrs. Hudson was gone. "Outwardly." He added, because he could see that the man in front of him wasn't quite the man he had met years ago.

The Doctor smiled again. "Well, I always tend to look good." He looked Sherlock up and down, and grinned. "Well, but you my friend, you have changed. Look at you, you're quite a man, huh? The girls must love you."

Sherlock coughed and if he was a normal human he would be red by now. Lucky him, he wasn't, because normal social matters didn't count for him, and so he stayed as pale as he was.

It was like a dream.

Sherlock had been a kid when he had met the Doctor, the man with the blue box who came home to talk to him. He had been sick with the flu and the Doctor had kept him company while his family had been busy.

 _"I've heard of you, Sherlock."_ He had said _. "And I think, one day, you'll be a great man."_

The Doctor had promised him to show him the universe. The stars.

 _"I just have to check something before I come back."_ He had said, waving at Sherlock, one foot already in the TARDIS. He had parked her in the garden in the back of the house. _"I'll come back, just wait."_

 _"But I always have to wait!"_ Little Sherlock had said, a pout on his lips _. "I don't want to wait! Take me with you!"_

The Doctor had smiled, and it had looked kind of sad. _"I know Sherlock, I know. But there is something I need to do."_

 _"I can help you!"_ Sherlock had insisted. " _Let me help you!"_

_I am not useless._

But the Doctor had not agreed. And so he had left Sherlock alone in the garden, in the middle of the night. The lights of the kitchen had been the only source of light.

Mycroft had found Sherlock the next morning sleeping on the stairs of the porch. Sherlock would never forget how disappointed he had been to see his brother's face instead of the face of the Doctor.

In the end, he had thought all of it had been a feverish dream.

Maybe this was why he had never been able to trust anyone anymore.

"I am so sorry for leaving you, Sherlock." The Doctor said, his voice serious. "I did mean to come back for you, I really did but...things went a bit.. complicated..." He trailed off and for one moment pain was written all over his face, but it quickly disappeard and was replaced by an apologetic smile.

Sherlock wasn't sure what to answer, since it hadn't been okay and still wasn't okay, so he pointed at the room behind himself. "Please, come in. Would you like a cup of tea? I am sure John would make you some tea."

The Doctor followed Sherlock into the flat, looking around with an interested look in his eyes, his hands still in his pockets while he examined the room.

"Nice flat." He nodded slowly. "Really nice. You have a good taste, Sherlock, I-" He stopped as his gaze met John's, who was looking at him with confusion written all over his face. Not that this was something new for Sherlock.

"Hello, you have to be John." The Doctor walked over to John and reached out with his hand. "I am the Doctor. Just... the Doctor." He grinned, and John nodded slowly, taking the offered hand. "John...John Watson." He said and cleared his throat. He looked at the Doctor as if he was searching for something, as if he was waiting for something.

"It's nice to know that you have such a lovely partner, Sherlock!" The Doctor grinned at Sherlock, then he looked back at John."I have to admit I've always wondered why-"

"Uh, no!" John shook his head, waving with his hands in front of his face. "I am not his...We just share a flat."

The Doctor nodded thoughtfully. "Hmm, I see." But he still looked at John as if he thought he was more to Sherlock than a friend. It was always the same, everyone thought John and Sherlock were a couple. To be honest, Sherlock didn't mind that anymore. Let the people believe what they wanted to believe.  
He didn't care at all, because he saw no problem, but John seemed to care a lot. Sherlock wondered why.

"John is a doctor too." Sherlock said as he sat down on the sofa.

"Really?" The Doctor asked, grinning as he sat down next to Sherlock on the sofa.

John pressed his lips together and nodded slowly. "Yeah...Yeah..In fact uhm, I became a doctor because I've met a man who was named the Doctor, just like you." He cleared his throat again. "He was really friendly but...I never saw him again."

The Doctor raised his eyebrows and leaned forward. "Like me? Well, that's interesting! I guess that was me. Weeeeell, my future me, probably, since I don't remember you."

Now it was Sherlock's turn to be confused as well.

"Future you?" Sherlock and John asked at the same time.

The Doctor sighed and nodded." Well, really, it's difficult to explain everything. I am a Time Lord. I have more than one life, you could say." He waved off, but then he leaned further forward, his eyes on John. "Just, tell me one thing; will I be ginger?"

John blinket. "Uh...Well, the man I saw had brown hair, kind of this long." He pointed somewhere behind his ear.

"Awwww, what a shame!" The Doctor leaned back again and sighed. "I've never been ginger."

Time Lord...Sherlock furrowed his brow, his brain trying to find any information. He had never heard of a race called Time Lords. He had never read anything about a Time Lord. Therefore he had no information about Time Lords. In fact, he had no information about the Doctor at all, besides that he traveled in a blue telephone box through the universe. He didn't even know how old he was.

Somehow he had the feeling that this man was older than he looked like, older than John and Sherlock together. More than one life...That meant he must have lived through decades...And the fact that he had asked about the appearance of his future self meant that he probably changed his appearance from time to time. At least his appearance, probably also his character. Did that mean that the memories changed too? No, probably not. So, he was a man with the memories of several men he once had been, which was leading to one question...

"What number." Sherlock asked suddenly.

"Excuse me?" The Doctor asked, seemingly surprised. Sherlock knew he wasn't.

"Your number." Sherlock said casually."How many Doctors have there already been?"

The Doctor looked at him, his brown eyes unreadable for Sherlock, then he sighed. "I am the 10th incarnation."

"Whoa..." John rubbed his chin. "That's...actually...a lot."

The Doctor sighed again and nodded. "Yes, it is. But it's not as if I'm running out of time...I've still two regenerations left, even more if I am lucky.." He didn't sound as if he wanted to have more than two left.

Regenerations...So it was true, he changed his body. Sherlock assumed when it was needed, for example in danger or when he was near death.

That was interesting..

"But, I am not here to talk about myself." The Doctor said, and to Sherlock it sounded as if he didn't want to talk about himself. As if he wanted to stay a mystery.

 _Every mystery will be solved one day,_ Sherlock thought as he eyed the Doctor, his brain trying to analyse what he could see.

The suit was the same, it was old and a bit torn at the edges. Sherlock assumed it had been sewed several times. The Doctor needed glasses, Sherlock could tell it by the way he narrowed his eyes to studie the newspaper that was lying in front of him on the small table.

He ran a lot; his shoes were worn out and dirty with dust. So, what was he running from? The coat was his favourite piece of clothing, it was easy to tell because the Doctor hadn't taken it off even if the heating was on. It also meant that he didn't intend to stay for long.  
The long coat also probably meant that he didn't like to show his body. The coat was perfect to hide whatever there was to hide, probably the fact that he was too skinny for his hight.

"So, Mrs. Hudson said you're searching for the TARDIS?" John asked while picking up the cup that had fallen to the floor minutes ago. Luckily it had been almost empty before it hit the floor.

The Doctor nodded, his face grim. "Yes. I lost her."

"Lost her?" John asked surprised.

"Her?" Sherlock asked at the same time with a raised eyebrow.

The Doctor pressed his lips together and played with something inside the pocket ot his coat. A pencil or a key, Sherlock assumed. Most likely a key, probably the key to the TARDIS.

"I left her in front of the bakery. I went down the street to have a walk through the good old London and when I returned she was..gone."

John placed the cup on the desk and leaned forward in his chair. Somewhere outside a dog was barking. "Is that possible? To loose her just like that?"

The Doctor shook his head, suddenly looking terrible, as if he felt really bad. "No, actually not. I know it sounds crazy, but I think someone..." He paused, as if he wasn't sure if he should continue, but finally he said with a sigh. "I think she was kidnapped."

They were silent for several minutes, until Sherlock leaned back against the sofa, his deep voice cutting through the silence in the room. "Why would someone steal a telephone box?" He was just thinking loud.

"That's the question." The Doctor leaned back as well, crossing his legs."Someone has to know about her...Someone knows what she is..." He sounded so miserable, and Sherlock almost felt sorry for him. Almost. He was too busy with thinking. He was always too busy with thinking. Emotions where annoying and so he pushed them back,out of the way.

"But, no one will be able to get inside her." John said, his voice smooth and calm as if he was trying to comfort the Doctor. "They need the key."

The Doctor nodded absently and reached into his pocket once again. So, Sherlock had been right; it was the key inside the pocket.

"I know... But they will find a way to break her..." He made a grimace, as if the box had feelings and he felt sorry for the trouble she was in. How could you have feelings for a telephone box? Was that common under Time Lords? To have feelings for your ship? Maybe it wasn't just a ship to fly through the universe, maybe it was something like a soul mate or a friend. Maybe that was why the Doctor caller her 'her' instead of 'it'.

Maybe the Doctor was married to the TARDIS like Sherlock to his work? That would explain why he was so upset. Sherlock would be upset, too, if someone would take away his work from him.

Suddenly it was a lot easier to understand why the Doctor was so desperate to find the blue box.

"Do you have any idea who would want her?" John asked."Just an idea, maybe it leads us somewhere."

The Doctor's face darkened and for one moment he seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, but then he nodded. "No one is able to fly a TARDIS. No one, exept for a Time Lord."

John nodded and stood up. "So, the only who would want her is another Time Lord, yes? So, great, we have a lead."

The Doctor laughed dryly and shook his head. "No. No, that IS the problem. There are no Time Lords left." Suddenly the temperature seemed to drop several degree, and John froze in place, looking shocked. "I am the only one who's left..." And the voice of the Doctor was small and bitter. He looked so sad as he sat there, his hands in his lap, his eyes on his hands and his shoulders hunched forward. He looked as if he wanted to disappear.

"But..."John opened his mouth but closed it again.

Sherlock was quiet. For once he had nothing intelligent to say. What was he supposed to say to a man who had lost his family, his friends, everyone... ?

Sherlock didn't know. He didn't know how to react, and that was something that was new to him.

And there was something else that was new to Sherlock.

Self-hatred. This man in front of him had so much self-hate in his eyes that Sherlock asked himself how it was possible to hate yourself so much.

Sherlock ...couldn't understand...

"I am so sorry." John whispered, and Sherlock could see the sympathy in those dark blue eyes.

It was easy for John to understand others, to feel what they felt. Empathy it was called, something that Sherlock didn't possess. Sometimes he asked himself if there was something wrong with himself, but then again, was it important? He didn't miss anything.

"Don't." The Doctor waved off, a sad smile on his face, a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "It was long time ago..."

John's eyes were so sad, as if he knew what the Doctor was talking about, as if he could understand everything he said, everything he felt.

"I just want her back." The Doctor continued. "She's the only thing that's left of ...my home." He shook his head and looked up, the fire in his eyes flickering back to life. "That's why I am here-" He turned his head towards Sherlock. "I need your brilliant detective mind, Sherlock. I need your help."

Somehow Sherlock had the feeling that the Doctor rarely asked someone for help.

Sherlock opened his mouth to answer, but a knock at the door interrupted him - again.

"Damn it, Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock yelled angrily. "I am busy!"

There was a short pause before Mrs. Hudson answered calmly. "Well dear, this time it really is important."

Sherlock furrowed his brow and gave John a questioning glance, who shrugged his shoulders mouthing " I don't know what she wants."

"Who is it this time?" Sherlock asked, his voice bored. "Mycroft? I don't have time for Mycroft and the British government, send him away."

"No dear, it's not Mycroft." Mrs. Hudson answered patiently. "It's the FBI. They want to ask you a few questions because of the case."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. The FBI? Here? In London? That was unusual. Why would the FBI be interested in a case like this?

Sherlock stood up, ignoring the questioning look that John gave him, and walked to the door. "I really have no time for that." Sherlock huffed as he opened the door.

He heard someone moving behind him, probably the Doctor, since John's steps were heavier.

"I don't have time for your questions." Was the first thing Sherlock said as the door was open.

Mrs. Hudson sighed and shook her head, mumbling something to herself and walked down the stairs.

Three men stood in front of the door, all three in fine suits.

One of them was tall, taller than even Sherlock, with long brown hair and a kind smile. Next to him was a shorter man with short hair and freckles, who had a serious expression. To his left was another man who was wearing a trench coat and who had really blue eyes. He looked kind of tired.

If Sherlock knew one thing for sure, then it was that those three men were no FBI agents.

"The ID cards are fake." Sherlock said with his bored voice, not even looking at the ID cards. "The names are names of bands, everyone who has a brain will noticed that. Your fingernails are dirty and your hands are rough, I assume you're doing a lot of handwork but nothing a FBI agent would do. Your suits are often used and washed out, probably cheap detergent by the smell of it. They were sewed several times leading to the fakt that you don't have enough money to buy a new suit, or you don't want to spend your money on new suits. I assume you travel around, the wrinkles point out that you stuff the suits in bags and that you have either no time to iron the suits, or you have no iron. I assume you use this suits as disguise, which leads to my questions; who are you, and what do you really want here?"

They blinket in amazement.

"Whoa, that was quite impressive man." The man in middle grinned though his eyes stayed cold, giving him an somewhat arrogant expression."Never thought someone would notice."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes in return and was about to say something but the Doctor looked over his shoulder and squeaked, causing Sherlock to flinch.

"Oh YOU!" The Doctor said,his voice full of excitement and true admiration while his gaze was on the man in the trench coat. "You are beautiful!"


	4. This isn't a tea party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversations are difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoaaaa, wtf happened xD This chapter is a bit ...long??? I dunno, I had so much to write....xD  
> Jah, and, holidays are over, school has my life again, so...Don't worry if it takes some time, heh? I try to update as fast as possible, but I also try to write good chapters...so...xD Just, don't worry.

**Chapter 3**

"Ohhh, the tea party begins! I can see it, this will be fa-bu-lous! I can't wait to see where this ends."

His brother wouldn't shut up. For hours he was talking, not that Castiel payed any attention to what was said, but it wasn't really pleasant. It was an annoying background noise, like a busy street or a talking crowd; you knew it was there, but you didn't really focus on it. Although, it was easier to ignore cars or strange people than ignoring your brother Lucifer himself; somehow he knew how to annoy people with his mere presence. Castiel was sure he could be nice, or had been nice once, but at the moment he was...obnoxious.

Some people had their 'five minutes' where they were crazy or loud, Lucifer had his '24 hours a day'.

Castiel had a headache, and the pills didn't work well. They made it easier to ignore his brother, but they didn't make him go away.

The angel's eyes wandered to Dean, who was talking with an old lady. She was a good women, Castiel could see her soul shining bright and comfortable in the dim light of the stairwell. She would go to heaven once she was dead.

Castiel could see souls like normal humans could see the appearance of their fellow human beings. It was normal something he was used to, and it would confuse him if he wouldn't be able to see the shining lights of the human souls. They were beautiful, one of the reasons why he was so fascinated by human beings, unlike his brother, who thought they were flawed and useless. But, their flaws made them beautiful, made them special, and Castiel was mesmerized by them, especially by Dean. Castiel didn't know why, but somehow Dean was ...He actually had no word for it. Special? Probably.

His brother stood next to Dean, a bit too close for Castiel's comfort; not that it mattered since Lucifer was not really here, but still...Castiel didn't like the idea of him being near the Winchesters. He had done enough damage while being around them.

"Blah bla blah, blah blaaaaa blah, blahaha..." Lucifer rolled his eyes, forming a mouth with his hand as if to emphasize his words, letting it snap open and shut with every syllable. Not that you could call those noises words...

"It's so boring, really Castiel, I thought it would be more fun. I mean, the dead people in the morgue were interesting, but this? Nah." Lucifer eyed Castiel. "Come on brother, talk to me, you know I don't like to be ignored."

Castiel continued to stare at Dean, and Lucifer sighed in annoyance as he pushed himself in Castiel's field of vision.

"It's because we're under people, I assume? You don't want this old Lady to think you are crazy, heh? Hm, I can understand that, I mean, I wouldn't want to be called crazy either." He shrugged as if he could totally understand Castiel's situation, one of his wide grins on his lips. It was one of his Lucifer-grins. Castiel had seen Sam wearing that same grin once, too. It was typical for Lucifer, and it made every vessel look as if it was full of mischief. Castiel wondered what kind of guy Nick, Lucifer's vessel, had been. Castiel was sure he had been a nice guy, and he silently hoped for his soul to be in heaven.

Castiel took a deep breath through his nose while he tried to focus on his surroundings; they stood in an old stairwell and the walls were dark green , half of it was wooden. The floor was dark, and the light was too dim. The stairwell was really small, so small that Castiel wouldn't be able to unfold his wings, if he would have wanted to.

"I wouldn't want to live here." Lucifer said as he leaned against the wall, his arms crossed in front of his chest, his gaze wandering around. "Really, the rent is too high for this lousy place."

Castiel silently disagreed with his brother. He thought this place was nice, with the smell of old wood and polish in the air and the dim light. It wasn't lousy, it was old, and somehow it was welcoming. Castiel liked it a lot, in fact, almost as much as the Impala. Driving itself was boring and too slow, indeed, but sitting in the old car next to Dean was always...Hm...calming? Yes, calming, and nice. The smell of leather and car, it was something that always managed to remind Castiel of Dean.

The Angel closed his eyes for a moment; he couldn't see Lucifer when his eyes were closed, but he could feel his presence like a second skin. They were bound to each other, and Castiel was never alone, not even in his thoughts or his dreams. Yes, sometimes he slept, because his vessel was exhausted , and that was because Lucifer's presence was exhausting for Castiel's soul, which in turn was exhausting for his body...And so on, and so on. It was like a vicious circle with no escape; no matter what he did, he would always end up where he had started.

Castiel shook his head and opened his eyes again; Dean was looking at him, standing in front of him, his green eyes full of concern while his expression was perfectly free of any worry. "You're okay man?" He whispered, his voice serious. Castiel assumed he spoke in a hushed voice because Mrs. Hudson, the old lady, was still near them.

Castiel nodded slowly, but Lucifer chuckled full of glee. "Are you okay, Castiel? Are you?" He asked, his voice a chant. "Are you alright, dear brother, or am I bothering you? Maybe I should just go and, you know, leave you alone with your boys?" He waved and pointed at the front door with both of his thumbs."You know,I could wait in the Impala. Nahh-" He waved off. "I better not, someone has to watch over you."

Castiel looked at Dean, focusing on the amazing green eyes that he had grown to love so much, and nodded solemnly. "Yes Dean, I am fine."

Lucifer chuckled again while dancing in circles around Dean and Castiel. "Always so polite, always such a good liar. You truly are my little brother, aren't ya?"

Castiel chose to ignore that comment and followed Dean and Sam up the stairs.

He could hear Lucifer's chuckling behind him in the shadows of the stairwell, follwing him like a mocking reminder that he was not, and would never be, alone. Castiel was sure if he would turn around he would see his brother's eyes as two glowing spots behind him in the darkness. He had always been good in making a show out of everything.

They reached the top of the stairs, and the old women smiled kindly while she turned around to the dark wooden door and asked for Sherlock Holmes. Castiel watched her silently, and Dean and Sam made themselves ready to play the FBI agents once more.

Castiel thought it would be easy, like always. Dean and Sam were good at lying, Castiel assumed because it was an ability which was needed on earth, Dean had told him so once, and so he had no doubts about getting what they wanted.

But, then the door was opened and a man stuck out his head, a head full of messy dark locks, eyes with an indefinable pale color, high cheek bones and skin as pale as Castiel's own.

If you looked at him, with human eyes, you could think he was an angel, or something supernatural. But, Castiel, who could see the soul of every being on earth, saw something else.

Every soul had a different mix of colors and lights, every soul was different.

And, every soul, had its destination.

You could look at a soul and you immediately knew if it was good, or bad, if it would end up in hell, or in heaven, or neither of them.

But, this time, this time it was different.

Sometimes, very rarely, some souls had no destination yet. They were 'blank', unwritten, free of all strings of heaven or hell or fate. Those souls had a very precious gift; they could choose. They were free to move in time itself, and their decisions were grievous for the creation of history. You couldn't see where their paths would lead, because there wasn't just one or two paths, there were millions of different ways to go.

It made them unpredictable, and most of all, dangerous.

Usually those people were watched by all kinds of gods, angels and demons, because everyone wanted to use the soul for their own purpose, but this one seemed to be unwatched.

One such a soul could begin a war, but it could also end a war.

No one knew where they came from, how they were created, or who created them. Some said they had been mistakes made by god, some said they were free souls who freed themselves of destination's grip.

But, that wasn't all Castiel could see; this soul was different, not only unwritten and blank but also...changable, not quite human, as if the soul itself was not sure what it wanted to be. Castiel furrowed his brow as he stared at the bundle of light.

"Ohhhhh...OHHHH!" Lucifer took a closer look, his nose nearly touching the nose of the man named Sherlock Holmes, his eyes wide with amazement. "Look at this, brother, look at it. It's been years that I've seen someone like him."

This time, though, Castiel could barely hear the words of his brother, because they were drowned by the loud squeak of someone else.

"Oh YOU!" A head full of wild brown hair appeared over the shoulder of Sherlock, and wide brown eyes looked at Castiel as if he was the most beautiful in the universe. ""You are beautiful!"

Castiel's eyes widened slightly while his brown furrowed in confusion, and that all together must look really weird, but the man didn't seem to care at all; he pushed Sherlock aside and walked up to Castiel, until he stood nose to nose with him.

 _Personal space_ , Dean's voice rang inside Castiel's head. This person didn't seem to have heard of that.

"Look at you! Ohhh, you are wonderful! Look at those wings! They are enormous, and so bright! Look at the different tones of white, made of pure light! Oh!" He grabbed Castiel's head with his hands on either side of it, looking into his eyes as if he could see through the eyes of the vessel. "And those eyes! So blue! I've never seen eyes like this! They seem to glow! Ah,well, they kind of remind me of my sonic screwdriver, but look, so bright!" He let go of Castiel's head, which Castiel was thankfull for, and moved on the walk behind Castiel, probably to take a closer look at his wings. Castiel wasn't quite sure what to say, or to think.

Lucifer chuckled, clearly amused, forming a heart with his hands and mouthing "Someoneee is loving UUUUUU."

"What the hell, dude!" Dean furrowed his brow and didn't seem all to happy about the weird behavior of the stranger."I don't want to say anything, but you're kinda scary, and if I say something like that it means you ARE scary, believe me."

Castiel couldn't understand why Dean would be scared of someone like this man. There were far worse creatures out there.

The angel flinched slightly as he felt a hand on his wings. Not that it hurt, he was just surprised. No one, no human, was able to see his wings. Their mind was too simple, their perception weak, and so there was just one explanation why this man could see his wings and his true form.

"You are no human being." Castiel said, not the slightest bit surprised, his voice low.

The man appeared next to him, looking at him with knowing eyes.

"Oh, that's quite right." He held out his hand. "I am the Doctor-" And Castiel could hear Dean whispering "Doctor? Doctor _who_?"

"- and I am a Time Lord. Weeell, I don't expect you to know what that is, but yes, I am no human and therefore able to see your stunning form."

Castiel tilted his head and looked at the Doctor, really looked at him, and his soul. His soul was different, too. For Castiel, it looked like a clockwork out of gearwheels made of light. This soul, it had different layers, as if it had been rewritten,or overwritten, several times, and its colors were a bright orange and gold, while you could see different colors underneath them, faintly, reminding of the souls that had been there before.

But again, there was something else he could see. Something dark and fiery, something that didn't seem to belong to this body or its soul, something evil from far away, and it seemed to whisper in a dangerous low humming;

_Burn with me._

The darkness was just a small spot under the glass-like wall, which was protecting the Time Lord's soul of any intruders, but it would find its way inside, Castiel was sure, and that was why he said; "Your soul is stunning, lord of time, and I appreciate your compliments, but you must know that there is something dark inside you, and it wants to burn."

There was a look in the man's eyes, a look of confusion which soon turned to disbelieve until it turned to realisation. He said no word, but he seemed to know what Castiel meant, or, he seemed to have a presentiment.

He shook his head, slightly, barely visible, and Castiel wasn't sure if this was a silent 'no' for the man himself, or something that was directed at Castiel.

"Okay, great, now that you have confessed your love for each other, can we please...do something...else?" Dean snorted, his arms crossed in front of his chest, reminding Castiel of Lucifer when he was annoyed or displeased."Or do you want to marry him now?"

Lucifer chuckled while he chanted "Someone is jealousss."

"Maybe we should start with the fact that you are no FBI agents." Sherlock Holmes suggested as he narrowed his eyes. "For you still have not answered the questions I've asked."

"Whao, man, calm down!" Dean raised his hands in defense and rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine, we're no FBI agents, you're right."

Sherlock wrinkelt his nose, his head slightly raised as if he was looking down upon them, which he currently was, because he was taller than all of them. "So, would you please enlighten me?" He did not seem to want to call the police,in fact he seemed...interested, almost thrilled, even if you couldn't see it on his face, but you could clearly see it in his eyes.

Sam and Dean looked at each other, both arguing silently if they should tell the man who and what they were, or if they shouldn't.

"Maybe we should, uhm..." Sam gesticulated with his hands towards the doorway. "You know, we don't want everyone to know who and what we are."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes again, and Castiel thought he pretty much looked like a cat. Castiel liked cats, they were furry and friendly, but somehow Sherlock looked like a cat that was about to hiss, ready to jump at his victim. "There is no one here who would be interested in the identitiy of someone like you."

Before Dean could say anything in return, the Doctor spoke up," I think they are right." He hopped back to Sherlock's side, his hands folded behind his back as he looked up to the dark haired man."Maybe they can help us. And-" He raised his index-finger. "They have him with them." He pointed with said index-finger at Castiel.

Sherlock furrowed his brow, his gaze wandering from Dean and Sam to Castiel. He looked Castiel up and down, and Castiel could almost see his brain working to put together what he was seeing. There had to be nothing special to be seen; an old trench coat, a normal black suit, dress shoes, unruly hair and unshaved pale skin, blue wary eyes with dark circles underneath them, a blue tie...

Castiel doubted that his appearance was convincing.

Lucifer chuckled in amusement "This starts to be fun."

"I don't trust you." Sherlock said, his eyes still narrowed. Castiel doubted that he trusted anyone. "I am interested in the case. Actually, I already know who it was." He snorted and turned around. "But if you insist, I will talk to you."

He walked into the flat, and Dean and Sam looked at each other, then they turned to Castiel, who returned their gazes. "He knows who it was? What the hell?" Dean furrowed his brow and Sam dragged him into the flat as he looked at Castiel while he was nodding with his head towards the doorway. "Come on, Castiel."

Castiel followed the brothers, and Lucifer followed him, humming in amusement as he tugged at the end of one of Castiel's unruly strands of hair; he was trying to get attention, trying to make Castiel loose his patience just to see what would happen.

The wallpaper of the living room was white with dark brown ornaments which looked like flowers. The floor was made of dark wooden plates, and there was a fire place. Castiel furrowed his brow in confusion as he saw a bison skull with headphones hanging at the wall, something that seemed to catch Lucifer's eye too, because he stopped tugging at Castiel's hair as soon as he spotted the thing.

Castiel couldn't understand the sense behind putting headphones on a skull, especially on a bison skull. Didn't they know it was dead and therefore unable to listen to music? Maybe they thought it would hear it in heaven...? That was weird.

There were tones of books, all scattered across the floor and the tables. The windows were big and therefore it wasn't as dark in the flat as it could have been due the dark wooden floor.

"Hello." Castiel's eyes turned to the man who was sitting at a desk in front of a laptop. Sam had a laptop too. He used it a lot, and sometimes Castiel wondered what he was doing all the time. What was so interesting about a piece of plastic?

The man was small and had blonde hair. He looked friendly and calm, and so looked his soul. He was a kind man. He would go to heaven when his time on earth was over. He wore faded jeans and an ugly jumper with cats. Maybe he wore it for his friend, Sherlock, who looked like a cat? At least that was the only explanation that Castiel could come up with. Castiel would wear such a jumper too, if Dean would want him to wear it, but he would never wear it voluntarily. The eyes of the cats were too big, and the color of the jumper was an ugly greenish blue.

"John Watson?" Sam asked,crossing the room with long strides. He held out his hand. The man, John Watson, raised his eyebrows in surprise. He didn't seem to be used to strange people knowing his name.

"Hey! We've seen each other before,didn't we?" He grinned. "The supermarket. You helped us with the pie. I am Sam Winchester, and as you already know, this is my brother Dean." He waved towards Dean, who was currently busy with eyeing the environment.

"We are here to help with the de-aahm - the case."

John nodded slowly, his brow still furrowed. "Okay...uhm, that's great. Yes, I remember you." He nodded again, then he turned his head to Castiel, who returned his gaze.

They stared at each other for several minutes.

Castiel had seen that man before; this man had been the one who had looked at him while he had been in the Impala. He remembered that he had looked startled.

"I remember you too." John said and stood up, his eyes still on Castiel."I saw you in the car, the Impala. You were asleep." He laughed sheepishly. "I think I've woken you."

 _Woken?_ Castiel wondered. He hadn't been asleep back then.

Now it was Sam's turn to raise his eyebrows in surprise. "You did?"

Castiel nodded slowly, then, as if he had suddenly remembered how to be polite, held out his hand. "Castiel." He said with his low voice.

John continued to stare at him for several seconds, then he took the hand. "John Watson, as you probably already know now."

They let go of each others hand, but John was still looking at him.

"You may sit down." Sherlock dropped down on the sofa, his long legs outstretched. He looked bored, his face a perfect mask, but Castiel could see the curiousity behind his eyes.

Dean and Sam sat down on the sofa, while the Doctor sat down in the armchair opposite of the sofa. Castiel could choose between the full sofa or the other armchair. He chose to stand where he was.

"So, what do you want?" Sherlock asked bluntly. "You are no FBI agents, you are not really interested in the case itself, you are not relatives of the victim..." He trailed off, his bright eyes on Castiel. "Who are you." The question was directed at everyone in this room besides John Watson.

"Look." Dean leaned forward, his ellbows on his legs and his eyes on Sherlock.

"It's a bit difficult to-"

"I don't mind, we have time." Sherlock didn't look at him. "And you do want something from me, right? I assume you want information about the case and the murderer? Fine, I'll give them to you if you give me information about yourself in return."

"Sherlock." John hissed, clearly not amused. Lucifer, on the other hand, giggled and leaned against Castiel, who didn't flinch.

"Oh Castiiieeel." Lucifer grinned, pointing at Sherlock while he leaned closer to Castiel. "This man, you think he will help you?I wonder what side he will choose..."

Dean looked pissed while Sam seemed to try to find a good solution.

"Mr. Holmes-"

"Sherlock,please, Mr. Holmes reminds me of my brother. "

"Uh, okay, Sherlock..."Sam trailed off, his brow furrowed. "We can't just tell everybody what we are..."

"Aha!" Sherlock raised his index-finger. "So, I assume it has to be something dangerous?"

"What makes you think it is?" Dean snorted. Castiel had the feeling he was annoyed, but why? He had seemed so eager to meet Sherlock Holmes, and now he was...disappointed?

"You are keen on hiding your identity; you don't like talking about yourself or your intentions. You carry guns with you. You are used to fight, I can see it in your body language. You are wary, and you expect an ambush; your eyes are darting around all the time. You've checked the room for cameras as you've entered it. You are nervous, your body is tense." Sherlock sighed. "Shall I name more details?" Dean rolled his eyes and made a pout. "No.."

"He's smart." Lucifer whistled.

"So, we were in the middle of an important talk, if you wouldn't mind." Sherlock gestured with his hands in the air. "Please, talk, I am all ears."

Castiel was sure they would stand up and go.

There was no reason to tell this man that they were hunters.

He wouldn't believe them.

They would find another way to hunt the demon.

But, to Castiel's surprise, Dean spoke up. "Okay dude, I am not gonna lie to you because I know it wouldn't work."

Sherlock had a self-confident smile on his lips as he heard those words.

"So, here is our story; We are brothers, and we are hunters. We hunt things, evil things, mostly demons. We heard about the case and it got our attention. Now we want to know where the demon is and what it is about to do next so that we can stop it." Dean leaned back, his eyes on Sherlock.

"That's..." John shook his head. "Demons? Really? I mean...No offense, but that sounds really crazy."

Sam laughed half-hearted. "Well, tell us something new..."

"That wasn't all, by the way." Dean continued. "See this guy." Dean pointed at Castiel, and Lucifer clapped his hands. "Look Cas, he chose to notice you again! Now you can perform some cute magic tricks! Show us the one where you suddenly disappear by using your wings!"

"He is an angel of the lord, and he could kick your arrogant ass if he would want to."

 _"If IIII would say so."_ Lucifer corrected Dean, mimicing the older Winchester's voice.

"Right Castiel? You would do anything for him. I bet you would crouch down in front of him, playing his little bitch. Really brother, I don't understand what you love about him."

 _Everything_ , Castiel thought, as he tried to lean away from his brother without looking weird to the others. He leaned to his left, his ellbow placed on a small shelf next to him.

Lucifer grinned, poking Castiel with his index-finger. It did hurt, that was the problem. He could feel everything Lucifer did to him. This was by far not the worst he had endured during his time with his brother.

"Sherlock...Do you actually believe what they say?" John asked with doubt in his voice. Castiel couldn't blame him, he was just an ordinary human. Most of them didn't believe what Dean or Sam, or Castiel, said.

"Why would I doubt it?" Sherlock asked in return as he folded his hands on his stomach. "Dean is right, I can tell if someone is lying. Everything he said was true, or, as true as he believes. I don't see why I shouldn't believe them. And-" Sherlock nodded towards the Doctor, who listened quietly to what was said. "We have a Time Lord here, so why would it be weird to believe in demons or angels?" John didn't answer right away, and Sherlock continued to talk. "Although, I have to say I've thought angels have wings, are shaved, and don't wear trench coats."

Castiel would have felt hurt if he would have cared. At the moment, however ,all he cared about was that his brother seemed to intent to smash a hole into him by using his index-finger to poke Castiel's side with such a force that Castiel nearly bumped into the shelf.

The angel pressed his lips together and tried to focus on what was said, but Lucifer was annoyed, bored, and he enjoyed hurting Castiel.

Castiel was the reason why he was here, why he wasn't inside Sam's head. It must have been fun for him, to mess up the man's mind.

Castiel didn't need to sleep or eat, he didn't get the references, and he didn't care about sarcastic comments. And so, Lucifer tried to find other ways to hurt him.

Mostly he tried to hurt him physically, like poking him, grabbing his wings or tugging his hair, just to see what Castiel would do. Other times he tried to be nice to him, tried to get Castiel onto his side, the whole family-brother-I-loved-god-too-much-and rebelled-just-like-you- stuff.

And, sometimes, he tried to hurt Castiel by insulting Dean.

If there was anything that Castiel couldn't stand then it was when someone was insulting Dean.

Castiel tried to focus on what was said because it was important.

He had to listen so he could help and understand.

But he couldn't, because of Lucifer, who yelled into his ear, tugged at his wings and clawed at his shoulder.

Castiel tried to focus, he really tried, tried to focus on Dean, because that always helped to ignore Lucifer; he tried to focus on the warmth in Dean's green eyes, he tried to focus on the faint freckles, tried to focus on his deep voice...

But Lucifer was so loud, and the hand on his shoulder would leave bruises. Lucifer needed attention, now, because it would only get worse if he tried to ignore him.

Lucifer loved to play with Castiel's perception; he loved to change the appearance of other people or himself, and sometimes Castiel was surrounded by people that looked all like his brother. That was why Castiel didn't like being around people, it was hard enough to stay sane while being together with Sam and Dean, because Lucifer loved to play tricks with using them to hurt Castiel.

Castiel never told them what or when it happened, but Dean knew it anyway, and Sam surely knew it too; they could read his body language too well.

Sometimes Lucifer turned into Dean, and those times were the worst.

It wasn't unbearable when Lucifer used the appearance of his brothers because Castiel was used to them, they had yelled at him more than once, and their anger or disappointment was nothing new to him, but he couldn't bear it when Lucifer turned into Dean, because Dean ...

So much had gone wrong between them, in the past, and Castiel never wanted to see the disappointment or anger in Dean's eyes directed at him ever again.

Lucifer loved to use Dean to hurt Castiel, because he knew how important Dean was to Castiel. Castiel, of course, always knew, somewhere in the back of his head, that it was Lucifer, but somehow...somehow it still hurt, somehow the mere imagination that it could be Dean was horrible enough to hurt..

Castiel couldn't understand it, this hurt, those feelings, and why he felt them.

Often enough his brothers had looked down upon him, disbelieve, arrogance and lack of comprehension in their eyes as they said "You are like them, Castiel. You feel, and you want to be able to feel. You are too close to them; a human with wings."

They had tried to brainwash him, more than once, but it had never worked, and Castiel wasn't sure it was because of him himself - because a part of him did want to have feelings like humans did, or because this was just...him. But it had started with Dean...

Everything had started with Dean.

Humans and life itself were so confusing..

Castiel couldn't say how long he stood there, trying to ignore his brother, but at one point he simply couldn't stand it anymore; all the voices in the room had turned into Lucifer's, all babbling in a rush of noises, and everything began to blur in front of his eyes because Lucifer was playing with his vision. He had to go, now, where he was alone..Alone besides Lucifer, of course..

"Dean." The dark haired Angel said, his voice perfectly calm and low. Dean's gaze, who had flickered to Castiel from time to time, as if to insure that he was okay, was now directed onto Castiel, studying his face for any signs of distress. Of course there was nothing to be seen on Castiel's face..."I'll meet you both in our hotel room. There is something I need to take care of."

Dean knew what he meant, Castiel could see it by the way his eyes filled with worry and his lips became a thin line. He nodded , though before he could say anything Castiel opened his wings and flew out of the room.

Of course it meant that Lucifer had achieved what he had wanted, he had won his little mind game, but Castiel hardly cared about that.

He landed on a meadow, somewhere, and Lucifer snickered.

It was nice here, no humans to be seen. Castiel could see mountains in the distance and the sky was bright blue without clouds. There was nothing here, no trees, no houses, just him and his brother. The feather of his outstretched wings rustled slightly in the soft breeze as he turned around to face his brother.

"I knew you would give up. You love being around humans, excuse me, being around Dean, but you can't stand my powers, not yet. What a shame." The devil made a face as he approached with steady steps.

Castiel balled his hands into fists, his face a perfect mask of calmness while his eyes shone with anger. He stretched his wings wider as if to intimidate his brother, but of course it was of no use; Lucifer had six wings and was more than twice as strong as Castiel.

"We have time now, don't we?" Lucifer said, his voice calm, and opened his arms as if to hug Castiel, a smile on his lips. Castiel, however, rushed forward and tried to punch his brother with one of his fists, but Lucifer easily dodged the attack. "Nah, brother, you still don't love me?"

Castiel's face was grim as he tried hit his brother's face, something that he would never be able to do since Lucifer was only inside his head.

It was useless to 'fight' against Lucifer, but Castiel was too frustrated to care.

It was annoying, frustrating, and Castiel would have screamed with anger if he didn't know that this was what Lucifer would like to hear. "Never." He nearly spat the word.

Lucifer sighed and shook his head as if he was truly hurt by the words.

"One day you will."

And so two hunters, two doctors and one detective had a talk, while the two angels were fighting a fight that couldn't be won.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I really enjoyed writing Castiel... xD  
> Oh, and I also hope that I've stayed in character so far.
> 
> See you next time


	5. Life's a bitch and you know it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is sure he knows who is the murderer, but is he right?  
> Dean and Sam aren't sure about that...

**Chapter 4**

"Although, I have to say I've thought angels have wings, are shaved, and don't wear trench coats."

Sherlock Holmes was an arrogant dick.

Dean had thought he would be cool, just like in the books, someone who was nice, kind, brilliant..But, no, he wasn't, and Dean had to admit that he was disappointed. He felt like a fan that had been fooled, not that he considered himself a fan of Sherlock Holmes, but..

"You know-" The hunter said, and couldn't hide the annoyance in his voice. "Sometimes nothing is as it seems. Sorry to disappoint you, but that's life man."

Sherlock didn't even look at him as he took a deep breath through his nose and chose to ignore Dean. Not that Dean cared... It was just damn annoying!

His gaze wandered to Castiel; the angel stood next to a small shelf, a shelf which looked rather expensive, his face perfectly calm, but Dean could see that something was not right. It was weird, or maybe it wasn't, but Dean could almost feel when something was not right with Castiel. Had to be the 'special bond' they shared. Right now he could see the pain hidden behind the impossible blue eyes. Outwardly Castiel himself was all calm and collected.

"So..." Sam cleared his throat, turning his head from side to side to look at Dean and Sherlock. "Maybe we should discuss things now."

"You mean the case." Sherlock corrected the younger Winchester. Dean snorted, but was ignored. Great, fucking fine with him!

"Yeah,the case." Sam nodded. Dean wondered how his brother could keep calm, but then again, Sam had always been the one who was better with...staying calm in situations like this.. "We told you who we are, now we need answers."

Sherlock leaned back, his long legs crossed and his hands folded in his lap as he hummed thoughtfully.

John looked from Sherlock to Sam, then to Dean and to the Doctor; the poor guy seemed confused, and Dean couldn't blame him. Though, there was also a spark of interest in his eyes, almost as if he did want to believe what was said but didn't know if he should.

From the corner of his eyes Dean saw Castiel cringe ever so slightly and Dean's hands balled into fists. The situation was tense, no one in this room was trusting anyone, and Castiel was bothered by Lucifer...Great, really, great...Couldn't be better.

"I don't think I need your help." Sherlock finally said, as if he had actually considered taking their help, what he surely hadn't. "This case has nothing to do with demons."

Dean's eyes narrowed and he was about to spat something really evil, but the Doctor spoke first; the voice of the Time Lord was calm and soothing, almost as if he couldn't bear the tension in the room. "Sherlock, you should think this over. Those three are experts, they surely know if demons or something supernatural is involved."

Dean immediately decided he liked the Doctor, sending him a silent ' _Thank you'_ with one gaze. The guy was weird, but at least he had a heart. The Doctor nodded slightly, barely visible, but Dean saw it. Sherlock, however, saw it too.

"What is your point, Doctor?" The detective asked, his cat-eyes narrowing as he studied the Time Lord's face. "I know you must know a lot of supernatural creatures, but why do you agree with them? I know who it was and I know he is not a demon."

"Maybe you are wrong!" Dean hissed, leaning back against the sofa as he crossed his arms in front of his chest, not looking at Sherlock. "You kno', just because you're the great fucking Holmes doesn't mean you're always right, okay?" Sherlock curled his lips but bit back a comment as he looked at John, who shook his head.

Sam sighed and Dean was sure he could hear a hissed "Deaaaan...!", but he chose to ignore that.

"Who was it, then?" Sam asked, his head turned towards Sherlock. "I mean, who do you think it was?" Not that it would matter, really, because Sam and Dean wouldn't know the guy anyway...

Sherlock opened his mouth, but before the arrogant prick could say anything else, someone else spoke up.

"Dean-" A low voice spoke softly from the corner of the room, a voice that Dean would always recognize no matter how soft and subdued it was in comparison to the chatter in the room and the sounds of the surroundings. Dean's eyes turned to Castiel, who had his arm slung around his middle, his face a perfect mask without any emotion. He was freaking pale and his eyes were clouded and distanced. Dean knew what was going on, he knew it, not just because he had seen this look on Sam face but also because he could fucking feel it. "I'll meet you both in our hotel room. There is something I need to take care of."

Dean wanted him to wait, wanted to tell him that he shouldn't be alone, that this was the worst he could do right now, but Castiel was already gone; the flutter of wings was to be heard and all that was left was an empty space where the angel had stood mere seconds ago.

Someone sucked in a sharp breath, someone gasped in surprise.

"Where is he? Where is he gone?" Sherlock asked, demanding an answer. He was probably shocked because he couldn't explain what just had happened.

John looked really pale all of sudden, his eyes searching for Castiel as if he thought he was still there.

The Doctor on the other hand was amazed, his big brown eyes even wider, a grin on his lips that lit up his whole face. "That was amazing! I didn't see that comming!" He had probably seen something else, more than the humans in the room. Dean still didn't understand WHAT exactly the Doctor was, and why he was named the Doctor, but he was sure that this man saw things in a different kind of way...Especially Castiel. He had been so faszinated by Castiel, his wings and his true form, that Dean had found himself to be slightly jealous of his ability to actually see Castiel the way he really was. He had always wanted to see those damn wings.

"That-" Dean said, leaning forward to look at Sherlock while a smug grin appeared on his lips. "- That was an angel of the Lord flying out of your flat. And he can do much better things than just disappear by using his wings. You should see his angel mojo, he can heal flesh wounds with that."

The disbelieve in Sherlock Holmes eyes was satisfying.

"But, the wings..." John almost stuttered, clearly too shocked to form a clear sentence. "I've seen no wings..He just-" He made a movement with his hands "- disappeared!"

Sherlock hissed, kneading his hands as he shook his head. "That's impossible! No one just-" He snorted "Disappears!"

Dean rolled his eyes and sighed. "Guys, you can't see his wings, that's the whole point. We're humans, we don't have the ability to see the wings."

Sam nodded in agreement."Actually, we haven't seen them either. Just the shadows, that's all we can handle. Their true form would probably burn our eyes out or something..."

The Doctor whistled and raised an eyebrow. "Really?..." He trailed off, deep in thoughts. Dean would like to ask him how they looked like, if they really were bright and white, if they were made out of light or feather, if they were big and strong or small and soft...But this was not the right time to ask such a question, Dean would ask Castiel himself...someday.

"Whatever!" Dean stood up and looked down on Sherlock, who still tried to figure out how Castiel had left the building without being seen. "It's our turn to ask questions."

Dean turned around to face John, then he turned back to Sherlock, his head raised as he looked down on the dark haired detective.

"Moriarty."

Dean blinket as Sherlock's dark voice cut the silence in the room.

"Mori..arty..?" Dean asked, slowly, his brow furrowed and the ' oh-my-god-are-you-serious-bitch' expression on his face. Sam did look as surprised as Dean felt.

"Are you kidding me? You mean James Moriarty, jah? The guy who threw you off a cliff?"

Sherlock wrinkelt his nose. "No one threw me off a cliff." To be honest, Dean was surprised that so far no one had tried to do exactly that.

"Not yet..." Sam said, more thoughtfully than pejorative. "Dean, can I talk to you for a minute?" Dean nodded and both of the left the living room to stand in the small corridor next to the door.

"You think this is a paralell universe? Or some dream world?" Sam asked immediately after he was sure that the others couldn't hear them, his voice a whisper. Dean shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. "No man, I have no clue...But this is freaking weird! I mean, it reminds me of Gabriel and his little jokes, but dear Gabby is out of question..Also, wouldn't Cas say something? I bet he would notice if we were caught in an illusion."

Sam furrowed his brow and gave his brother a serious look. "You're sure, in his current position? It's already hard enough for him to believe that we both are real..."

Dean bit his lower lip as he nodded, feeling bad as he thought about the looks that Castiel gave him sometimes, those that were looking right through Dean as if he wasn' even there.

His brother had the point, they were on their own in this, but still...Somehow Dean was sure, really sure, that this was real. It didn't feel wrong, but then again, how did 'right' feel ?

"It's real, I'm sure." Dean said with his hushed voice, his eyes darting to the living room; he could see John Watson talking to Holmes, who still sat on the sofa, only the messy head of dark curls visible to Dean. The Doctor was quiet in his armchair, but Dean could almost hear him thinking. "If this was fake...Why would he be here." Dean nodded towards the Doctor. "It doesn't make sense, Sam...This man doesn't make sense. Time Lord, really, what's that?"

"Not a demon, that's for sure." Sam replied as he eyed the Doctor. "He's okay, but no human..." Sam's eyes turned to John and the back of Sherlock's head. "As for Holmes, I am not sure...He seems a bit odd, doesn't he?"

Dean snorted as he crossed his arms behind his back. "Just slightly."

Sam grinned with amusement. "You don't like him, do you?"

Dean snorted again and rolled his eyes. "Good guess. He's an arrogant son of a bitch! Just look at the way he looks at us, or at Cas..."

Sam sighed and scratched the back of his head. "Well, what now? I mean, Moriarty, really?" He shook his head in wonder. "I mean, I was surprised about Watson and Holmes, but, Moriarty as well? This is a bit too much Sherlock Holmes, don't you think?"

Dean nodded in agreement and leaned his side against the wall, his back to the living room. "That's it. There has to be someone behind this. A demon, angels, I don't fucking now..."

The younger Winchester tapped his index-finger against his chin while he tried to think of a solution. "We should go back." He finally said, his brow furrowed."We should tell them that we suspect something to be wrong."

Dean groaned. "Really, Sam? You're sure? They won't believe a thing. 'Hey, Sherlock, by the way, this might be something wicked. Actually, you are just a fictional character and Moriarty is your mortal enemy. I know this sounds weird, but maybe he is possessed by a demon and maybe, maaaybeee, you're a demon too, heeeyyyy'."

Now it was Sam's turn to roll his eyes. "Dean, not like that. But, think of it, they've seen Cas disappear, so maybe they'll listen to what we have to say about demons." Dean doubted it, but he didn't disagree. Both of them went back into the living room and sat down on the sofa. It was a surprisingly soft sofa...

"So...Well, listen." Sam said, his hands on his knees as he looked from Sherlock to John, who eyed him with wary eyes. "Everyone could be a demon. You can never be sure. This Morarty guy, does he act strange? Or, does he seem to be different? Black eyes sometimes? Smell of sulfur in the air?.." Sam trailed off as Sherlock smiled. It wasn't a kind smile, more one of those arrogant smiles that you could see someone wearing if they didn't believe anything you said.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but no. No black eyes, no sulfur."

"But his behavior is...odd." John suddenly said, and Sherlock turned his head to the army doctor, a look of betrayal on his face as if he was angry that John had said something without asking him. "Come on, Sherlock, you can't deny it!" John raised his hands almost as if to defend himself."The things he did to those people, what he did to me?" He laid his right hand over his heart and shook his head while he remembered whatever the fuck had happened to him and the others."That isn't normal, not a bit."

Sherlock made a grim face, his back stiff as he turned his head back to Dean.

"It occurred to me that he has an odd behavior, but it doesn't necessarily mean that he is a demon. He could be a smart human."

John coughed as Sherlock said the word smart because John seemed to have a different opinion. "Sherlock, he tried to **kill** several people. With bombs, while you had to solve riddles! You honestly think a normal person would DO that?"

Sherlock shrugged his bony shoulders without looking at John. Somehow Dean didn't like the purple shirt that the detective was wearing; it was too dark for the pale skin, which in turn made the detecive look like a corps or a vampire. Maybe he was a vampire. That would explain a lot..."You do a lot of things when you are bored." John's gaze immediately turned to the wall, where Dean could see several bullet holes. Maniac Holmes. Great. This case was getting better and better..

"Okay, listen." Dean began to search for his mobile phone and fished it out of the pocket of his suit. "I'll give you my number, alright? I know that was a lot of information for one day, so maybe you just have to sleep over it, heh?" He wrote down his numer on a small paper and handed it John, who looked at the paper as if he wasn't quite sure what to do with it; throw it away or cut it into pieces.

"We're staying in town, cause we're sure that this guy is a demon - or at least no human. No matter what you think , we will continue our hunt. It's up to you if you join us, or not." Dean put away the phone and stood up, Sam doing the same.

"Wait." The Doctor stood up as well. Dean noticed that he had really skinny long legs; in fact, the whole guy was skinny and tall. "What will happen to him."

Dean raised one eyebrow."To whom?"

The Doctor gave him an intense stare with his wide brown eyes, serious eyes, knowing eyes."The demon." He said.

"Well-" Dean shrugged his shoulders,feeling slighty uncomfortable under the stare of the Doctor. "We'll send it back to hell, or kill it."

"Kill?"The Doctor asked, his brows drawn together and his already thin lips even thinner.

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Well, you have to know that demons take a vessel. Actually they are just kind of..black smoke. They don't have a soul and also no body,at least not on earth, so that's why they possess people."

"Of course we try to safe the vessel." Dean added. "But it doesn't always work..." He trailed off as he thought back at the poor souls that _could_ have been saved by them.

"But-" The Doctor shook his head in disbelieve, pain written all over his face. "Killing is never an option!"

Dean laughed dryly as he ran a hand through his hair. "Believe me, I once thought so as well but real life is a bitch..."

The Doctor pressed his lips together, his warm brown eyes surprisingly hard. Something told Dean that this man had lost more people than Dean could count, and suddenly he felt sorry for him. He didn't say anything, though. Neither did the Doctor, but the way he stood, his arms crossed in front of his chest, his shoulders straight and his body tense, it told Dean more than words could have. He knew this posture, and he knew this gaze; the doctor was trying to hide his feelings. Dean was no mind-reading angel, neither was he Sherlock fucking Holmes, but he could read body postures as well as he could read letters.

"Look, we better get goin' now. We still have some research to do." _Since Holmes is an ass and won't tell us anyting._

"Sure." Sherlock waved his hand towards John. "John, would you mind escorting our guests to the door? I have to think."

John opened his mouth, closed it again and stood up. Dean had to think of a dog, but kept quiet. Watson brought them to the door and opened it for the brothers. "I am sorry about his behavior." He whispered. "He's a child sometimes, but he really is a genius. We will call you tomorrow to let you know what we have decided to do."

Dean and Sam nodded and thanked him, then they both went down the stairs, but not before they told him to be sure to strew salt in front of the windows and door gaps. You could never be too careful.

"Dude." Sam said and took a deep breath of fresh air. "That was weird."

Dean laughed half heartedly and opened the door of his baby. "Tell me somethin' new..." He looked at the rearview mirror and suddenly he had to think of Castiel, who would normally sit in the back.

He had to admit, he was worried. Damn worried. The angel hadn't been alone since they got him out of the hospital, what if something was wrong...What if he was seriously hurt? A stupid thought, since Castiel was an angel, but Dean couldn't stop himself from worrying about the winged idiot.

The drive to the hotel was almost endless, and Dean was more than glad when they finally arrived.

The damn hotel was expensive as hell, even if they only shared one room with two beds, though, Dean had to say it was worth it. It was a nice hotel, not too opulent... Dean liked the fact there were no damn partition walls. Seriously, he always had the feeling those partitions were following them to every hotel...

Dean parket the Impala near the hotel. It had already begun to get dark outside and the air was fresh and humid.

The hotel was warm and the lights were bright.

Dean and Sam entered their room and Dean almost feared that Castiel wouldn't be there, that something had happened to him, but to his relief the angel sat on one of the beds.

Castiel looked mildly exhausted,although you could barely see it, and his hair was ruffled as if he had been running or fighting. His clothes, however, were in perfect order and his face was as neutral as ever. Though, his lips looked grim, but at least the haunted look in his eyes had faded to something like dull acceptance.

"Hi Cas." Dean said as he threw his suit jacket on next best chair. He tried to sound cheerful, or at least positiv, but somehow he only managed a forced smile.

He was glad to see Castiel again, of course he was, but the atmosphere around them was always tense. It had to be because of what had happened, because of what was _still_ happening, and Dean really wished that things had been, would be, different. It made him scream inwardly.

"How're you doing?" That was probably the most stupid questions of all questions that could have been asked. Dean mentally slapped himself.

Castiel looked at him for several minutes, his eyes searching for something in Dean's face or in Dean's brain or whatever, until he finally answered with his serious voice "I have been better, but I am fine." Always the same answer.

Dean nodded slowly as he looked away from Castiel. "Did you get the necessary information?" The angel asked, his eyes still on Dean. He was so fucking calm! How could you be so fucking calm while Lucifer was inside you head?Castiel's willpower and pride was truly remarkable...

Whose fault had it been, and, was it important to know who had started making the mistakes?

Dean wished that forgiving was easy, but it wasn't.

"Yes, we did." Sam answered for Dean. The younger Winchester sat in front of his laptop, his eyes glued to the screen. Really, Sam was in love with that stupid thing. "At least enough to start researching."

Castiel nodded solemnly and folded his hands in his lap; he looked kinda lost and pale in the bright light of the hotel room, with his shoulders hunched forward and his blue eyes with dark circles underneath them. Fragile, he looked fragile even if he wasn't, of course. Hell, he was far away from being fragile and would probably never break like glass. Well, but you could never be sure... Who knew what Lucifer could do to your mind and body? Dean swallowed hard and focused on Sam's broad shoulders. Sam was so fucking tall, Dean could still remember those times when HE had been the taller one.

"I want to help." The angel said, as honest as ever.

Dean sighed as he leaned back on his hands, his eyes on his brother, who was absorbed by the research.

"No, it's okay Cas, we don't know too much anyway. Let's wait till tomorrow when we meet up with Holmes and Watson again."

Dean could see out of the corner of his eyes that Castiel made a stern face, his brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed as he asked "Why wait, Dean?I thought 'every second is important to us', so why won't you tell me what I can do to help you?"

 _Maybe he needs distraction_ , Dean suddenly thought as he turned his head to Castiel, who glared at him with his bright blue eyes _. Maybe doing nothing at all is worse than doing something..._

"Look-" Dean sighed. "We only know his name."

Castiel narrowed his eyes even further. _You are making excuses,_ they seemed to say.

"So what?" Castiel asked; he nearly snapped, and it surprised Dean. "A name will be enough for me. You know me, Dean, you know what I am capable to do, so do not mess around with me." He sounded angry, not that kind of angry where you would yell at others, more that calm kind of being angry. Fuck, even while being angry he tried to stay in control.

 _I don't mess around with you_ , Dean wanted to say, _I just try to_...to what? To protect him? Yeah,sure, because he was sooo fucking good in protecting others..

"Just tell him." Sam said calmly while typing. He didn't want them to start a fight because Sam knew that a fight wouldn't be good for them right now.

Not for either of them.

Dean clenched his teeth as he sucked in a breath. Why was he angry anyway? Castiel was a grown man, _mostly_ ,so there was no need to worry.

_Sure, because it's just Lucifer who is inside his head, right!_

"Dean." Castiel's voice was low and urgent, as if he really needed to know that damn name.

"Fine!" Dean hissed and jumped off the bed, causing Castiel to sway forward, though he didn't lose his balance. Sure, damn angel and their grace..."Moriarty, James Moriarty." He snarled and paced back and forth, trying to calm down. Why was he angry? Not knowing why he was angry made him even angrier. This was stupid.

Castiel took in a sharp breath, his eyes wide as he slowly stood up.

"Dean...Are you sure?" He asked slowly.

Dean turned around to face Castiel, who was even paler by now with a look of utter shock on his face. It looked so out of character that Dean almost laughed but he was too concerned about the weird behavior of the angel. "Yeah, that's what Holmes told us. Why?"

Castiel shook his head while his eyes turned to Dean's right; Dean knew that there was nothing to be seen for him, he knew that Castiel was seeing Lucifer again and he silently asked himself what the devil was doing right now. Castiel's wide eyes narrowed again, his lips twitching as he turned his head back to Dean. "Dean." He said, his voice urgent again. "This man is no demon."

The blue eyed angel flinched, and Dean was sure that Lucifer was trying to stop Castiel from saying whatever he was about to say.

The _click click click_ of the typing stopped and Sam turned his head around, his eyes curious and worried. "What do you mean, he is no demon?"

Castiel took a shuddering breath, his arm around his middle again. "What I mean to say is that he is something else..."he trailed off, his lips pressed into a thin white line.

Whatever he wanted to say, Lucifer was giving him a hard time of forming the right words.

"So, what **is** he?" Dean asked, taking two steps towards Castiel, who in return took two steps back. The angel shook his head, his brow furrowed, and Dean knew that he was losing it. "Hey Cas, c'mon man! Look at me!" He took another step forward, his hands outstreched. "Just tell me what he is, heh?It's important."

Whatever he had said, it was the wrong thing; Castiel looked hurt, just for a second, his blue eyes darkening as he took several steps back. "Not this time." Dean was not sure what he meant, or if he was even talking to Dean. "I have to go." And then he was gone.

Dean sighed in furstration as he ran his hand through his hair.

Great.

Fucking great.

All the awards to Dean Winchester.

Why did he always manage to fuck things up instead of making them better?

"Dude, I think you've hurt his feelings." Sam said casually,as if Dean didn't know that already, and Dean could have slapped him. "Really?" He snarled and grabbed his leather jacket.

"Hey, hey, where're you going?" Sam asked with raised eyebrows as Dean walked towards the door.

"Out for a walk, bitch!" Dean snapped. He didn't mean to be rude to Sam, who hadn't done anything wrong, but he couldn't hold back. Anyway, Sam wouldn't mind. He slammed the door shut and rushed down the hallway.

_Not a demon.._

So what was he?

Dean tried to care about the topic, but he couldn't, because all he could think of was the look Castiel had given him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> xD Dean and Sherlock,best friends forever.
> 
> Writing Dean is fun too. Actually, writing everyone is fun, though I have to say I really enjoy writing Dean and Cas.  
> I know Sherlock is slightly...arrogant, but I don't think he would be all happy sappy about everything, and we all know he's anti-social. I think he would appear pretty arrogant if you meet him the first time :I  
> But of course he has a heart and is a good guy, we all know that.
> 
> Hah, ja, so, see you next time around!  
> I'll try to update as fast as I can manage.
> 
> Also: the partition walls appear in every motel or hotel they are in, did you notice? A friend of mine noticed it and she's right xD It's always the same partition wall...


	6. It's a game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is a game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He guys! So, here we go again!Thanks for reading the story, also thanks for the reviews :) See ya soon  
> Also: Next week's weekend I'll cry manly tears because I will not be able to go on the Supernatural Convention here in Germany because it was sold out(and very expensive, but f* that D:) ...But mostly because it was somewhere where I didn't even know it is a place in Germany...
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the Chapter!

**Chapter 5**

"You can take my room. I don't intend to sleep tonight, so please make yourself at home."

The Doctor had disagreed,of course, had said that he didn't need to sleep either and that he was totally okay with staying in the living room, but Sherlock had interrupted him with a deep sigh. "You see, Doctor, it is important for me to think. I can't think when anyone is around to annoy me, so please leave me alone now."

The Doctor had said nothing but Sherlock had seen his gaze full of worry as he disappeard into Sherlock's room. Sherlock couldn't quite understand why the Doctor would be worried but he had no time to wonder about the other man; he had more important things to do than to dwell on the emotions of other men.

_If you want to say something, say it, otherwise it is not relevant and therefore not necessary._

John had been quiet as he disappeared into his own room. John knew better than trying to talk to him while he was deep in thoughts, in his mind palace.

Sherlock silently thanked John for understanding him, but of course he would never say it out loud; John surely knew that Sherlock was glad to have him as friend, so why tell him? It would only steal time, precious time that Sherlock needed to think about important things...

It was quiet now, quiet and dark in the living room.

The shadows were a thick black and the dim light of the street lamps was barely able to reach the dark wooden floor of the flat. Everything was colored in a greyish blue mixed with the pale yellowish light from outside.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he fixed a spot of light on the table in front of him. The table was full of books and newspapers, and Sherlock also spotted two cups of tea, both from John since Sherlock was too busy to waste his time on drinking tea. John always forgot where he put his cups, so in the end he had three to four different cups of tea. Sherlock knew that there was another cup next to the laptop without looking to at it. He remembered it because John had placed it there before he had gone to his own room to leave Sherlock alone with his thoughts. John had probably wanted to stay in the living room to blog about the day.

Now, however, was no time to deduce the meaning of the cups of tea in this room; now was the time where he had to think about the Doctor, the Winchesters, an angel and ...Moriarty.

It didn't seem to be able to fit together. None of this. Why would the Doctor ask him for help, after all this time? Simply because he really lost his telephone box? Why would the Winchesters assume that demons had something to do with the case? And what about their weird behaviour? Then there was the angel; he didn't look like the 'normal' image of an angel and his behaviour had been more than odd.

And Moriarty...Dean Winchester's reaction after hearing the name had been really interesting...As if he knew Moriarty...

There was, though, no way that Moriarty was something close to a demon, and yet John had insited to put salt in front of the windows and door slits.

 _"To be safe."_ John had said _. "Better safe than sorry, right?"_

This was ridiculous. Really.

Sherlock didn't believe in mysteries and he didn't believe in myths or god; he didn't believe in anything else than science. Everything could be explained!

Just not this time.

This time Sherlock searched and searched in his mind palace, trying to find answers to the endless questions in his head. Nothing would make him doubt science! Not even the fact that the man named Castiel had disappeared in front of his eyes. There had to be an explanation and Sherlock would find it.

"This really is like you, isn't it? Being all quiet and thoughtful, aww, how I love this." Sherlock's head snapped around as he heard the familiar voice behind him. His heart was racing, but his voice was calm as he answered with a forced smile."I am surprised to see you at this time. Forgive me, I have no tea to offer, but I am sure you don't mind." His voice was low and steady as he answered.

Jim Moriarty smiled as he walked across the room towards the window; his face was pale in the light, his eyes too big and his smile wrong. He wore a suit, Westwood of course, and his shoes were new and polished. "It's nice to see you too, Sherly, really nice. I see you've made some friends, yes? That's good, that's always good, friends are nice, I like them." Sherlock watched the other man as he leaned forward to look out of the window.

A normal human being would be scared to death by finding the criminal mastermind in the own flat, but Sherlock was merely surprised; he had known that Moriarty would visit him, he just hadn't known _when_.

"Nasty light out there, don't like it, do you?" The criminal turned around to face the detecitve which tried not to show that he was actually surprised to see the other man in his flat. How did he enter the house? He was no demon, not that Sherlock had ever considered it as possible, but the fact that he could enter the house even if there was salt in front of the doors made clear that he was no demon. But, no human was able to enter a house without using the door...

"Ah,Sherly, don't look at me like that, you'll make me blush if you don't stop." He emphasized his words by laying a hand on his cheek, smiling shly. He was a good actor. "We don't want to make Johnny jealous, don't we?"

Sherlock huffed as he leaned back in his armchair, his hands neatly folded in his lap. He tried not to ask himself why John would be jealous of something like Moriarty's behavior towards him. "Why are you here?" He asked instead, because this was the only question that would be answered by Jim. Sherlock was sure Moriarty wouldn't tell him how he had entered he house, or if he was a human or not; it would spoil the fun for him, and if there was anything that Moriarty loved than it was to have fun with his victims.

"Hm Hm, I don't know." Moriarty shrugged his shoulders. "I've wanted to visit you. That's okay, isn't it, to visit my beloved detective? I've missed your presence, that's all." Moriarty snickered to himself as he sat down on the arm of the chair. "It's so booooring, Sherlock, everything. I thought you'd be faster, but look, you're still where we've left."

Sherlock's cat-eyes narrowed even further as he tried to make sense of the words. "What do you mean?" He asked slowly.

Moriarty sighed dramatically. "Oh Sherlock, just look. So much is going on and still...Ach, but why do I talk about things like that? Let's talk about something funny, shall we? How do you like my gifts?"

Sherlock raised his head, his eyes not leaving the man in front of him. "The bodies?"

"Oh, don't play stupid, you know as well as I do that it was , well, _me_." Moriarty snickered again. He was crazy. "It was fun, burning out their hearts...I told you I would do it, to you, one day I will, but not now. Now we let others suffer."

So, this was about suffering... "Why?" Sherlock simply asked. Moriarty rolled his head from shoulder to shoulder as he sighed again. "It's a game, always a game."

Of course. What else. London was a playboard and Moriarty and Sherlock were the player, pushing around the different figures in form of human beings. However, while Moriarty knew the game and it's purpose, Sherlock didn't. And that was the game; letting Sherlock wonder about the purpose of the game.

Moriarty was always a step ahead, and he enjoyed it.

"Because it is FUN, Sherlock." Moriarty snarled, almost as if he was disappointed that Sherlock didn't understand him. "You don't see it yet, you don't, but you will, one day, and then everything will change." Moriarty grinned again as he straightened his back. His eyes were two black holes in the shadow of his pale face. "And now you have new friends...Oh Sherlock, this is going to be SO MUCH fun." His face was serious all of sudden, the joyful undertone gone. Moriarty's mood changes were nothing new to Sherlock. "It will be so much fun to kill them...So much fun.."

Sherlock knew, he knew it very well, that he could do nothing about the fact that Moriarty was playing with him. He could call the police, Lestrade, oh he could, but Moriarty would be gone until their arrival. And what evidence was there that Moirarty was the murderer? Sherlock had nothing in his hands to proof that Moriarty had killed those people and the fact that the members of Scotland Yard were beginning to suspect Sherlock himself to be behind everything didn't help at all...

"Are you sure that you will be able to kill anyone of my 'so called' friends?" Sherlock asked casually, his posture relaxed, too relaxed for a man who was talking to a maniac. "They are quite skilled. You should watch _your own_ steps."

Moriarty snickered again as he leaned towards the window, his eyes on the street. "Aw, Sherlock, you think I don't know about them and their hobbies? I know much more than you think. For example..."He pointed at the salt on the window sill. "You did expect a demon, right? Shame that Sebastian didn't come with me, he would have wanted to meet you but he won't be able to get in now. Tz, but , you see, I am no demon Sherlock, but I guess you've figured that out,right?" He stood up and waved with his arms. "No sulfur, no black eyes, no sexy black smoke...Hell, if I was a demon I would have possessed _YOU_ instead of this poor guy here." He grabbed a handfull of his white shirt as if to underline his words. "This vessel is so boring...His soul is a story teller, poor guy...I think he didn't know what he was doing back then when he said yes..." Moriarty turned around to Sherlock, his dark eyes gleaming dangerously in the dim light.

Sherlock tried to process everything, all details and everything that Moriarty had said. He tried to memorize it, put it away in a drawer in his mind palace so he could tell Dean and Sam everything he knew, because one thing was sure now; Moriarty was either a really really crazy and mentally ill man, or he was no man at all.

"I can see your brain working." Moriarty said as he walked up to Sherlock until he stood in front of the detective. Their knees were almost touching.

"Do you try to work it out?" He spun his index-finger around and around next to his own head as if to imitate a clockwork. "Does your big brain falter to analyse me? What a shame Sherlock, what a shame!"

Sherlock took a deep breath and opened his mouth, but there was a noise to be heard from upstairs.

"Oh, I have to go." Moriarty chirped and took several steps backwards. "It was nice to talk to you, Sherly, it truly was. See you neheeext tihiimeee!"

Sherlock stood up abruptly, his hand reaching for Moriarty to stop him from leaving, but it was already to late; the criminal mastermind disappeared without saying another word.

Sherlock stood there, staring into the empty space in front of his eyes, his heart and mind racing. He was sure he had heard the flutter of wings.

But, maybe he had been wrong.

He was never wrong.

"Sherlock, are you alright?" John asked, his voice worried. He stood in the doorway to the living room."I thought I've heard voices.."

Sherlock turned around slowly, and he was sure his face was pale with shock. "I don't know, John..." He answered honestly.

John furrowed his brow as he walked up to Sherlock to stand in front of him. It was funny, how much smaller John was compared to Sherlock. Everyone thought Sherlock was tall, but in fact John was just too small.

"We should call the Winchesters." Sherlock said while he nodded to himself, trying to calm himself down. "We should call them."

He was just on his way to his mobile phone as said mobile phone rang. John watched him all the while with his typical worried expression.

"Sherlock, is that you?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Lestrade? What a surprise...At this time?" Sherlock's voice wasn't surprised at all and you could have called it irony if you didn't know Sherlock.

Lestrade sounded breathless and upset. "Yes, yes." He said hastily. "Listen, Sherlock, we might have caught someone who is related to the murder-"

Sherlock hissed and John winced in surprise. He looked like a lost child in his pajamas and the dark shadows of the night. "Who? Who is it!"

Lestrade sighed and Sherlock was sure he shook his head. "We don't have a name. This guy won't tell us anything..."

"We'll meet you in two hours." Sherlock informed Lestrade, who laughed nervously. "Heh, Sherlock, calm down, did you take a look at your watch? It is half past three-"

"I don't _care_!" Sherlock snapped and the conversation was over. He threw the phone on the sofa and turned around to John, who looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and worry in his dark blue eyes.

"Sherlock..."John began, but trailed off again.

"Get dressed, we have work to do." Sherlock announced as he walked towards the stairs to his room "I will go and tell the Doctor-"

"Oh, you don't have to tell me anything." The Doctor grinned as he walked, _jumped_ , down the stairs. "Where and when do we go?" He was a way too enthusiastic.

Sherlock turned around and walked back to the sofa as he answered "Scotland Yard. As soon as John gets dressed but not before I have called the Winchesters."

The Doctor raised one eyebrow as he slowly followed Sherlock to the sofa. John watched them both, not attempting to go to his room to change into normal clothes. "So, you have decided to accept their help?" The Doctor asked curiously, eyeing Sherlock with his big brown eyes which were a lot more serious than his weird behavior

Sherlock grabbed the phone and huffed. "I have to."

Sherlock hated to admit it, but he needed their help..

...

"You knew it, didn't you? All the time. He's using you, Castiel, don't you see it? He's a human. All he wants is the help you can offer him. Did you honestly, for one second, think he cares about _you_? Who would care about _you_? You betrayed your brothers, you're dead to them - the angel who is flawed by his humanity. And Dean? Dean has never cared. "

The words hurt, but they hurt less than other things.

It was back then, back when he was in the room as Luicfer stood next to Dean, disguised as Dean himself, telling Castiel that he was worth nothing, that was when it had hurt.

Castiel had tried, he really had, to talk to the real Dean; he had forced out the right words and he had tried to tell Dean everything he knew about Moriarty, but Lucifer wouldn't let him; he wouldn't scream at Castiel, no, he hissed, his voice, Dean's voice, full of contempt.

And then Dean, the real Dean, had looked at him, had taken two steps towards him with his hands outstreched and Castiel had been sure, for one foolish moment he had been sure, that Dean would embrace him. What a foolish thought, Castiel should have known better, and yet he found himself hurt by Dean's behavior. It was his knowledge that was important, nothing else. Dean had said so.

A part of Castiel shook his head at his own behavior.

 _Dean cares_ , this part said, _Dean cares a lot. Look at him, he came back for you,after everything you did. He is trying to forgive you. He cares, oh so much, don't you see? Lucifer plays tricks with your mind._

He knew this part was right.

But then there was...this other part...The weak part, the part that was easily fooled by Lucifer because it was naive, child like, _human..._

Lucifer knew how to use his weakness, his ability to feel, his ability to care, his ability to love, _emotions_ ; he knew how to turn them against Castiel.

Physical wounds did hurt but they would always fade. The damage that Lucifer did to his mind, the mental damage, was far far worse...Castiel was broken, he knew that, but he tried to rebuild himself, he tried to become himself again, a proud angel of the Lord...But he couldn't. Lucifer teared it down, every wall of self-esteem, pride and hope, until once again nothing was left to protect his raw soul from the anger and frustration of his brother.

"You poor, poor child, Castiel...You poor lost soul. You gave up everything, you gave up yourself for everyone, and see where it got you; you are worth nothing, you've been a whore trying to make it right for everyone, but in the end you've made it worse. It's so sad Castiel, so sad."

 _Yes_ , Castiel agreed as he looked down on his hands. _Yes, it is sad._

He did regret nothing. He did not regret pulling Dean out of hell, even if the feathers of his once pure bright white wings had been colored black to mark him like his handprint had marked Dean. He did not regret having a profound bond with Dean because it was one of the reasons that made him able to feel.

He did not regret being 'flawed'.

He did, however, regret all the pain he had brought the Winchesters and his own brothers. He had tried to make it right, oh he had, but it had never been enough. He had been too weak, mentally and physically.

There was a hand on his shoulder, warm and comfortable, as if to soothe him. "Lost child of heaven,...You did so much wrong. How will you be able to make it right?"

 _I don't know..._ Castiel thought as he stared at the table. The playboard was up there.

"Don't cry, Cas."Lucifer purred mockingly, using Dean's voice. "Tears won't change a thing."

He wasn't crying, not for the human world, but his true form must be crying silently. "I know." He said out loud, his voice hoarse and raspy as if he hadn't been talking for days.

"Oh Cas, you stupid idiot, this is all your own fault." Dean sat down on the chair opposite from Cas, his hand on the playboard. "You did this to yourself."

Lucifer appeared next to Dean, his eyes on Castiel who continued to look at the playboard.

The room had white walls, the floor was white as well. Castiel didn't like the white hospital clothes he was wearing, they felt uncomfortable in comparison to Jimmy's clothes..At least he was wearing his trench coat.

The air smelled like sterile hospital cleaner, giving Castiel a headache, and the neon lamps were too bright.

Oh, he remembered that scene very well, Lucifer liked to play it in front of his inner eye over and over again until Castiel begged him to stop - something he never did, a reason why he was often caught in this illusion for hours until Dean , the real Dean, called for him and pulled him back to the real world.

It was difficult to tell what was real, especially when Dean, Lucifer's Dean, began to tell him that this was real, that the real world was an illusion, that Castiel was slowly losing his mind, drifting off into an imaginary world where he was a hero once again. _The nurses have told me_ , Dean would say when Castiel asked him if he was sure. _They've told me that you're mentally damaged_. _It's okay, though. Maybe it will get better._

He never said he was sorry, he never said he wished for Castiel to get better. There was no pity or mercy in his eyes, but then again, Castiel hadn't expected him to forgive him anytime soon, or ever again..

Castiel tightened the grip on his own hands, trying to keep himself calm and collected. This was not real, there was no need to look up into Dean's eyes.

Castiel had tried, many times, to break free of the illusions but his brother had a tight grip on his mind. He was so much stronger than Castiel was...

"Sam and I have to go soon." Dean said, watching Castiel for any reaction that Castiel wouldn't give him. _This is one of Lucifer's games, this is not real..._ There was no need to answer when the person opposite from you was not real..

"Cas man, I am talking to you." Dean said, leaning forward over the table to look at Castiel with a searching look in his bright green eyes. Castiel wouldn't meet his eyes, his gaze firmly fixed on the game board.

He could hear Lucifer chuckle. "Won't you answer?" His brother asked.

Of course he wouldn't. This was not real. This was an illusion.

"C'mon Cas!" Dean urged. "Talk to me." He seemed to be close to grabbing Cas by his trench coat to shake him.

" _C'mon._ " Lucifer chirped in the exact same tone as he leaned down to Castiel's ear, his breath too real against Castiel's ear. "Are you tired of talking? Or, do you think this is a joke made by me?I am so sorry dear brother, but this is real. Deanny boy is right." Lucifer made a sad grimace, his eyes big like those of a lost puppy. "I am so sorry."

"Stop it..."Castiel mumbled, his eyes on his hands. "Stop it, that's enough now."

"Cas!" Dean balled his hand into a fist. "Whatever he says, ya hear me, whatever he says, it's not true, oke? This is real, I am real, _oke_? Look at me Cas."

Castiel pressed his lips together and shook his head, his brow furrowed. "I am sorry, Dean, but you are not real."

Dean leaned back again and suddenly he grabbed the board and threw it on the floor. The figures hit the floor with a clattering thud. Castiel didn't even flinch. "Fuck you, Cas! This is real! This is damn real, you hear me!" Dean glared at him, his eyes full of hurt and frustration, his shoulders tense and his face an angry grimace.

"Sorry." Castiel said again, his voice low and submissive. "I will not doubt it again."

His words didn't seem to calm Dean down but at least his voice softened. "Listen, Cas." He said as he reached out over the table as if to take Castiel's hand. He held out his hand, waiting for Castiel to take it. Castiel made no move, and Dean continued. "I know this aint easy, hell, I've been around Sammy...I probably can't imagine what's going on inside your head, if it is good or bad, but you have to stop it. It ain't real."

Castiel sighed and took a deep breath. "I don't know what's real anymore, Dean." He said, his voice low and his eyes sad. Lucifer grinned from ear to ear.

Dean said something, but Castiel couldn't hear him clearly. It was as if his voice was under water. Castiel furrowed his brow even further and tried to focus on the words but he could hear nothing but Lucifer's chuckle.

"Stop." He said, his voice stern as he turned around to face Lucifer. "Stop this - now."

"Oh, what? What do you mean?" Lucifer asked, his hands raised as if to defend himself, a look of innocence on his face. Castiel opened his mouth again but no word left his mouth.

"Cas! Cas, focus on me!" Dean yelled somewhere to Castiel's right.

"Cas! Cas, get your damn ass over here! Stop being a pussy!"

" _Cas, Cas_ " Lucifer chirped. "They are calling for you."

Castiel pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes as he tried to focus on anything. They were so loud!

"Cas! Hey man, calm down!" Hands were on his shoulders, then they were grabbing his wrist trying to pull his hands away from his face. "C'mon, focus on me!"

His head was spinning.

"CAS!" An angry voice yelled. "Cas you son of a bitch, c'mere! Stop sulking! We need your help here!"

Help, Dean needed his help, he should go now..

"Don't you dare to leave me now!" Dean almost screamed into his face. He almost sounded desperate, worried even.

"Cas...C'mon man, I beg you. ...Okay, you hear me? Fine, I am sorry,oke? I am sorry for...You know.."

Castiel's eyes snapped open.

The wind was cold on his face as he looked down on the city. It was night. He was in the hotel room within seconds, appearing in front of Dean with a soft flutter of his wings.

The hotel room was warm and cozy and the only lightsources were the two lamps on the nightstands next to the beds. Dean and Sam must have been asleep a few hours, or minutes, ago before they had woken up again. The beds were unmade and their sleepwear was lying on the floor. They must have been in a hurry.

"Jeez!"Dean took two steps backwards because he and Castiel stood almost nose to nose. _Ah, right... personal space_.."I've been calling you for almost half an hour, you dick!" He didn't sound angry, more... relieved.

"I am sorry." Castiel said solemnly and flinched inwardly at his own words. Dean, however, only nodded. The dim light of the room was casting shadows on his face, his eyes, however, were a bright green.

"It's okay man..."The hunter trailed off, eyeing Castiel with a serious expression. "Are you...okay?" He asked slowly. His brow was slightly furrowed, showing that he was...worried? Castiel felt something inside him stir, but he wasn't quite sure what it was. Whatever emotion it had been, it vanished as soon as it had come.

Castiel held his gaze, his shoulders straight and his head held high. "Yes." He answered a bit too hesitantly.

Dean had no change to say anything else because Sam walked out of the bathroom. "Oh, hey Cas!" He said, a warm smile on his lips. "You're finally here. Dean was getting rather desperate-"

"Sammm!" Dean hissed, giving Sam an angry glare. Castiel didn't understand why Dean would be angry about anything that Sam had said moments ago.

"Whatever!" Dean said and clapped his hands, looking rather cheerful, though his eyes were still serious. "We've had a call. Holmes boy and Watson have called, they want our help for the case."

Castiel tilted his head.

"Well, that's interesting." Lucifer said, stepping through the wall and up to stand next to Dean. Castiel tried hard not to look at his brother.

"That is good, I assume?" Castiel asked politely, even if he knew the answer already. Rhetorical question you call it.

"Yeah,well-" Dean shrugged his shoulder as he walked right through Lucifer, who huffed. "Rude.." and crossed his arms in front if his chest. "Gonna be interesting."

Dean didn't ask Castiel about Moriarty again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have noticed I've used small details from the new preview for Supernatural 7x21 for this.


	7. Is he a friend of yours?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So who is the suspect?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe, sorry it took a bit longer. I was Loki'd for several days and school had me in its hands and and and. Here you go with another chapter. Did I tell you that I love you for reading this story? No? Well, I do. So now, here is the chapter, shhhh...

**Chapter 6**

"Finally!" Sherlock snarled, impatience written all over his face as he greeted them with his head held high. Great,yeah, maybe they should have said no...Dean was sure he wouldn't be able to endure this dick for more than ten minutes. "Would you please hurry up? I don't want to waste my time on waiting, I have better things to do."

Okay, less than one minute.

"Sherlock, calm down." John rolled his eyes, giving Sherlock a serious look afterwards. "They agreed to help...I think you should thank them for being here."

Sherlock huffed and waved John off with one gloved hand. "I don't need to thank anyone, John. They nearly begged to assist me, _I_ am doing them a favour."

Dean was close to hitting Holmes in the face. Several times.

"Huh, man, calm down." Sam whispered as he leaned towards Dean, who glared at Sherlock as if he was about to strangle him - which was almost the case.

Castiel blinked absently, his gaze directed somewhere to his left; he had been very quiet during the whole car ride and Dean wondered, once more, what was going on inside his head. Castiel wouldn't tell him, and Dean wasn't even sure if he wanted to know..

"Hello." The Doctor appeared next to Sherlock and John, his brown eyes bright and friendly. He held a cup of what Dean presumed to be tea or coffee in his hands.

 _Where did he get this?_ ...

"Where did you get that?" John asked surprised.

"Oh, the friendly lady gave it to me after I've asked politely for it." The Doctor answered as he took a sip, his hand pointing towards the glass door.

Dean could see a woman with wavy dark brown hair and tan skin who was wearing a blue cardigan and dark trousers; she stood behind the glass door which was leading to an office and she didn't look friendly to Dean - more seriously pissed.

"Donovan?" Sherlock aske, contempt and surprise mixed in his voice. "Really? I suggest you better check if there is poison in that tea."

Dean raised a hand and waved but the woman didn't wave back, instead she turned her back to them and walked further into the office.

"Well, only friendly people working here..."Dean muttered to himself. Castiel tilted his head to the side, his eyes on Dean. There was an almost questioning expression on his face, something that looked close to a child. "I don't understand your idea of being friendly.."

Dean had the urge to facepalm but he simply took a deep breath and smiled, maybe a bit too forced because Castiel's head tilted even further; he looked like a fucking owl or a cat or something not quite human. Well, he was no human anway..

You could say it was adorable in its own way, not adorable like ...adorable...but...Whatever.

"Hey, so..."Sam cleared his throat. "What about the suspect?"

Sherlock nodded thoughtfully. "We haven't seen him yet, we were waiting for you."

"Well, now that we're here..."Sam gestured with his hands, using his whole body to speak. He always did that, speaking with his whole body, and sometimes it looked kinda awkward but Dean was used to it. "Let's take a look, shall we?"

...

They had one of those typical rooms, one of those with a window to look into the room while the arrested person couldn't see a damn thing of you. To Dean the guy on the other side of the glass looked like one of those normal petty criminal, those that steal your wallet while trying to intimidate you with a rusty pocket knife, or those that linger in the shadows of the streets to watch you with dark gleaming eyes.

He had platinum blond hair which was almost white and messy, looking as if it was anything but his real hair color. His eyes were hazel and cat-like, reminding Dean of Sherlock's eyes; both had the same cold arrogance in them, though the eyes of the man in the room were darker and also more dangerous. He wore a black hoodie and a magenta colored shirt underneath it, and every other man would might have looked ridiculous in it but he looked even more...crazy? Yeah,there was definitely something dark and crazy about this guy, hovering over him like a shadow. His trousers were black as well and the white sneakers he wore were rather used. _Like those of the Doctor_ , Dean thought as he glanced over to the lanky man in the brown suit next to John.

It was the Doctor who gasped in surprise, more feelings written over his face than a person should be able to feel at one time; hurt, regret, pain, anger, frustration, relief, joy, respect, affection...

"Master!" The Doctor said, and his voice was full of pain and relief and so fucking much care and affection...

"Master?" Dean and the others asked at the same time, all of them rather surprised. "That sounds like some BDSM thing..." Dean mumbled and Sam had to hide his grin behind the back of his hand while he struggled to force a serious expression on his face. Sherlock simply overheard that comment while Castiel raised one eyebrow. Dean could almost hear him saying _'I don't get that reference'._

"You know this man?" Sherlock asked, his eyes and voice sharp, both lacking sympathy. The Doctor nodded mutely as he gazed at the man behind the glass wall, who seemed rather bored as he rock his chair backwards and forwards.

"Is he your friend?" John asked, his voice softer than Sherlocks and full of all the sympathy that Sherlock didn't care to bring up. "Boyfriends." Dean mumbled because he couldn't hold it back. Seriously, the Doctor looked as if he was about to jump at the guy with the intention to hug him to death. And, really, those names? That was rather kinky...

Sam gave him a serious glance as if to say _'Stop it man, this is really important.'_ Of course he was right. Dean had just tried to lighten the mood. A bit. Somehow. No, not really..

Dean was sure he had barely seen someone caring this much about someone else. It wasn't even only caring, it was as if his whole gaze spoke of love. Though, there was something dark there too, as if a lot had happened between them; the expression of the Doctor was torn between utter love and utter frustration and his posture was stiff, his arms folded in front of his chest as if he didn't know what to do with them and he pressed his thin lips into an even thinner line before he answered with a grave voice; "He is my friend and brother...and maybe something more..It is a bit..."He sighed and briefly closed his eyes. "It's a bit complicated...We have a long story behind us. I thought him dead..."His voice was bitter as he opened his eyes again to look at the man, _the Master._

Well, suddenly Dean could understand the Doctor better than he thought he would or could. It reminded Dean of himself and he looked at Castiel, who returned his gaze with his bright blue eyes. Neither of them said a word but they really didn't need to, because Castiel's eyes told him everything.

"Just be careful..."Lestrade had mumbled before he left them alone in front of the glass window. He seemed a bit tired and grumpy. "He tried to break Anderson's nose."

Dean could hear Sherlock's gleeful chuckle. Another person that he didn't like. Hell, did that guy like _anyone_ exept for Watson?

They all stood there in awkward silence after Lestrade left, neither of them really sure what to say. Even Sherlock was quiet, something that made him less a dick in. But he was still an asshole.

"He is someone of yours." Castiel said as he took two steps closer to the window. All heads turned to the angel. "But he's.." Castiel tilted his head and narrowed his eyes as he searched for the right word. "...damaged." He turned to the Doctor who was still looking at the Master.

 _Maybe he is afraid to look away_ , Dean thought as he eyed the Doctor. _Maybe he thinks he'll disappear if he looks away_. Dean knew that feeling too, the feeling when you're afraid that everything is not real, that the person will disappear into thin air front of your eyes, that it was just another hopless dream of despair...This feeling really sucks.

"What do you mean, 'damaged'?" John asked, maybe just to keep someone talking, but he sounded worried. Maybe not worried for the guy, more worried for the Doctor.

Castiel blinked several times until he turned his head back to the Master, who was still rocking his chair backwards and forwards, his eyes half-lidded and his expression totally bored. Dean wondered if he knew that he was watched. "It is difficult to explain for you can not see what I see." Castiel simply said. As if that would explain anything... "It is his soul. One of the gearwheels is broken, it does not work properly."

Dean didn't understand a thing. He was sure neither did the others, but the Doctor now chose to look at Castiel, his brown eyes serious as he said; "I know that already. There was an incident...It is a long story, too long to tell it now...But I can tell you that it drove him mad." He turned his head back to the Master, his brow furrowed as he asked; "Could you fix it?" And there was hope in his voice, his eyes earnest and pleading. The Master really meant everything to him...

Castiel pressed his lips together with a frown on his face as he answered slowly. "I don't know." He looked up to meet the Doctor's eyes. "But I could try..."

The Doctor exhaled and some tension left his body. "Good...That's good, that's brilliant." And there was the spark in his eyes again. "We should talk to him!" And he was off , his long legs carrying him to the door as he pulled something out of his coat that looked like a screwdriver with a torch.

"What the hell..." Sam raised an eyebrow and Sherlock was about to say something, probably that they could use a key, but the door was already open and the Doctor inside the room.

"Oh great." John mumbled and looked around as if he feared that someone would round the corner.

"Someone should follow him." Dean muttered as he watch the Doctor and the Master through the thick glass. Sherlock straightened his back, his eyes narrowing as he observed the scene. "No need to." He said with his deep voice. "He knows what he is doing."

Dean, to be honest, wasn't sure about that but he kept quiet as he watched the two men in the room.

The Master, who had been bored until the Doctor showed up, had wide eyes now. He seemed to be unsure if he should be happy or not, and for one moment Dean thought there would be a happy reunion with hugs and kisses, but then the face of the Master changed and his expression grew dark and twisted. "Doctor." He sneered. "You here? Have you found me now, again? What a surprise. I feel flattered."

There was derision and bitter contempt in his voice, his eyes cold and absolutely different from the Doctor's. There was affection, he was hiding it well, but you could see it. His eyes might be hard and cold, but they were slightly glassy, as if he was holding back tears.

"Master..."The Doctor said, his voice serious. "You are alive...I thought you've died...I've grieved, you know? Days over days, because I've thought they've taken you down with them. The last thing I've seen was the white light that swallowed you."

The Master had a wry smile on his lips, his eyes full of arrogance but also hurt. He was hurt, moved by whatever had happened between them. "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot to write a card. Well, maybe because I was in hell and had to get back somehow, yeah,maybe because that was more important." He tipped his head from side to side while he spoke, his expression full of anger as if he had expected the Doctor to help him. "I was kind of busy, you know? It's not as if everyone is a hero and saves the day like you always do."

Back from hell? Dean and Sam exchanged a quick glance.

 _Hell?_ Dean mouthed. _Hell as in hell, the hell?_

 _I don't know_ , Sam mouthed back. They turned their heads back to the two men.

The Doctor looked hurt now, his eyes sad as he walked closer to the Master, who watched him with wary eyes. "I am so,so sorry." The Doctor said and his voice was full of regret. "I should have looked for you, but .."

"But you were busy with yourself,I know." The Master snorted and looked away to his left, directly through the window as if he could actually see the other men standing there. "Always the same, right? It's all about you,isn't it?" And he sounded like a petulant child.

"No." The Doctor said soothingly, and his voice was smooth and calm. He smiled a small sad smile. "No, that's not true."

The Doctor crouched down in front of the Master, who hissed and almost kicked the Doctor in the chest. "Leave me alone, I don't want to see your stupid puppy dog eyes ever again! I don't need your compassion or help!"

The Doctor sighed deeply. "I thought you were dead." And he whispered something, a name maybe, and the Master's eyes narrowed. "I thought I would never see you again."

"There would have been a regeneration anyway!" The Master snorted and rolled his eyes. "Put your damn sentiment somewhere else but my face. You won't get rid of me any time soon."

Sherlock hummed, his hands behind his back as he looked at John, who was busy watching the scene in front of him. "This is getting nowhere."

Dean rolled his eyes in annoyance and turned to Sherlock. "Hey Holmes, didn't you just say he knows what he does?"

Sherlock wrinkelt his nose as he turned his head back to the Doctor and the Master, which were still talking. "I must have mistaken his intentions. I thought he would ask him about the case."

John shook his head in disbelieve and furrowed his brow in disagreement. "Sherlock...He thought his friend was dead! You can't expect him to ask about the case! They probably have to settle a few things..."

Oh well, Dean was sure they had to. Once again the hunter's eyes wandered to Castiel; the angel was very quite again, his bright blue eyes fixed on the master. He didn't look as if he was hurting or in any pain, but he was pale and his intelligent blue eyes were slightly clouded.

Sherlock walked into the room and John sighed deeply; he seemed tired and worried. "You're okay man?" Sam asked the smaller man.

The army doctor nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, yes I am fine. I am just worried that Sherlock ...does something stupid." He smiled slightly as they turned their attention back to the room and the men inside.

"I am Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock said as he stood next to the Doctor, his hands in the pockets of his dark coat. "I don't have much time or patience, so I won't bother with long stories. I want to know if you are related to Moriarty."

Whatever the Doctor had wanted to say, he closed his mouth as Sherlock began to speak. He looked kinda hurt but he didn't raise his voice again.

The Master laughed out, his eyes full of glee as he smirked. "Why would I tell you?"

"Because I want to know it." Sherlock answered cooly.

The Master's smirk widened as he leaned back. "I don't cooperate with others just because they want it. It has to be usefull to me too, you know."

The Doctor sighed and mumbled something like "Please just tell him what you know."

Sherlock raised his head as he looked down at the blonde man. "You have your friend back, you will be free to work with us, what more could you want."

The Master huffed and crossed his arms, his eyes darting to the Doctor. "First-" He said,pointing with his index-finger at the Doctor."He _was_ a friend of mine, not _is_. Second-" He pointed at Sherlock. "Why would I want to work with _you humans_. I hate you, by the way. There is no reason for me to work for or with you. Nothing."

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. "Sooner or later you will have to talk because otherwise you won't get out of here."

The Master narrowed his eyes until they were small slits. Dean had the feeling he couldn't stand Sherlock and that made him likeable in his own way. Even if he maybe was a mass murderer.

"That's what _he_ said." He spat and his voice was sharp and angry.

Dean could almost see Sherlock's ears twitch like those of a cat. "Who, who said that? Moriarty?"

The Master raised his head now to look Sherlock in the eyes; his face was stern and his small narrowed eyes dark and dangerous.

"No." He said with a low voice. "The one that brought me back from hell."

Dean and Sam exchanged another quick glance. So he had been brought back from hell...But why? Who would bring him back? The Doctor had nothing to do with it, Dean knew real surprise and the Doctor had been more than surprised to see the Master alive.

"Who was it, then?" Sherlock asked again, his own eyes narrowing as well.

Dean could feel the tension in the air like electricity on his skin.

The Master leaned forward, his voice serious. "Crowley."

Oh well, Crowley had his finger everywhere, this damn bastard...

Sam ran a hand through his hair as he stared at the Master. "Oh man, I think this might could be a bigger case..." He mumbled and turned his head towards Dean, but Dean barely heard him because he already walked into the room.

"So, Crowley, yes?" The hunter asked as he stopped next to Sherlock who gave Dean a questioning glance. "The 'king-of-fucking-hell-crossroads-demon-guy' Crowley?"

The Master snorted as he leaned his head back to look up at the ceiling; the bright light must be hurting his eyes but the Master just stared at the lights as if he couldn't care less. "I don't know if you know another one, but yes, it was him. I assume you know him? Great, did he pull you out of hell as well?"

Dean gave the Master, who looked at him now, a wry smile. "Yeah,well...I was in hell once and believe me I never wanna be there again, but it wasn't him who saved me."Dean's gaze flickered to where he knew the window was. Castiel must be watching him. Castiel was always watching him, so this was nothing new...right..

Dean turned his attention back to the Master, who seemed more interested now. "You've been there too?" He asked, wary still, but he seemed to loosen up a bit. "How long?"

Dean grimaced and rubbed the back of his head. He hated talking about himself, especially about his time in hell and especially with a stranger that he barely knew. "Long enough."

The Master chuckled dryly as he looked at Dean, his head in a normal position again. "Then join the club! I would hug you, or maybe not, but my hands are cuffed, sorry."

The Doctor had his brow furrowed in worry as he took several steps towards the Master. Sherlock, on the other hand, stood at the wall now, his sharp gaze observing the scene.

"You've been in hell?" The Doctor asked, his voice small and worried. "I am so sorry...I didn't know..How did it happen?"

The Master snorted and turned his head away from the Doctor as if he couldn't bear his pathetic approach. "Ask the others!" He spat, his shoulders tense and his face a grimace of pure hatred. "Gallifrey wasn't good enough for me anymore, or so they've thought. Not that I would have wanted to stay there, locked in time forever with those idiots, but it wasn't nice and surely not the only option to get rid of me now that I've fulfilled my purpose. But, hey-" He turned his head to the Doctor, his hazel eyes so full of anger and hurt and loathing that the Doctor took one or two steps backwards again, though he did held the Master's gaze.

"At least I am still alive. I thought it's over now, the drumming inside my head is finally gone and all that shit os over, but no, it isn't, it isn't! I am back again, still the same old ME in the same damn regeneration, brought back by a demon." He gave the Doctor a cold smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"All because you have been busy." He nearly screamed that last sentence.

He didn't mean what he said; his eyes were too glassy with unshed tears of either anger or pain, his smile was too cold, his shoulders too tense. He was angry, hell he was, and he was hurt, but he didn't mean what he said. Dean knew that position, he had been hurt by Sam's behavior or Cas's idea of help often enough. It was easy to reject others, forgiving them was a lot harder...

Nonetheless the Doctor seemed hurt by the words; his bright eyes were hard and his thin lips tight and pressed together. He seemed to search for the right words but came up with nothing. All he said was a small "I am really so so sorry, Master..."

Dean took pitty with them and tried to lead the conversation back to the topic.

"Okay so...You've been brought back, right?" The Master turned towards Dean, his expression wary again. "Did he say why?"

The Master furrowed his brow thoughtfully, though somehow Dean had the feeling he knew very well why he had been brought back.

"Yes." The Master finally said, nodding slowly. "Yes, it was because of this guy called Moreearteeeaa..or something like that. Stupid name, don't like it. Crowley said he had to bring me back because he was in his debt and had to pay it back...I don't know what he meant but I honestly don't care."

That was weird.

Crowley being in Moriarty's debt? Why?

And what did Moriarty want from a Time Lord, from the Master?

And what WAS Moriarty?

 _Too many damn question_ , Dean thought grimly as he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Did you meet Moriarty?" Sherlock asked from his place at the wall, his voice sharp and demanding. "Did he want something from you?"

The Master laughed out, his dark eyes gleaming dangerously, and Dean had the feeling that this guy could be really really dangerous if he wanted to...

"Oh,yes, he had a rather special wish. Though, I didn't meet him yet. Crowley told me what he wants."

Sherlock leaned away from the white wall and walked towards the Master, who looked up to Sherlock as if he wasn't impressed by his presence at all. Well, Sherlock in return looked as if he was unimpressed as well. They seemed to make a silent contest about who could look more bored than the other...

"What did he want?" Sherlock asked, growled, his bright eyes almost without a color. "Tell me, what did he want?" He urged, he was in need to know the answer, this was important to him and Dean could just guess why.

Probably because this was THE fucking Moriarty, who still seemed to be Homles' number one antagonist. Sherlock needed every imformation he could get; he needed to be one step ahead of Moriarty to be able to beat him.

This was a game...Dean shuddered. _It's never a good sign if human actions turn into games because then it's inevitable that someone gets hurt._

The Master took a deep breath through his nose and closed his eyes as if to remember what exactly it was that Moriarty wanted.

"Hmmm...He said it was something inside a really big box..."The Master pursed his lips, his brow still furrowed. "Hmmm. I think he said something ...something inside of a...Pandorica?...Yeah, I think that was its name."


	8. Who said it would be easy?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who said it would be easy to work as a team?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neeeeh, sorry! I've been busy + I had to update another story, so... Jap, it took me some time to update xD Thanks for the reviews and favs :)  
> Here you go  
> Ah , and: please tell me if you see major grammar mistakes! I will correct them! (sometimes I am unsure about grammar and stuff and don't know if it is written right..)

**Chapter 7**

"Where have you been? I've been calling you for hours."

Dean paced through the room, his face serious and his brows drawn together. Sam sat on the old sofa, eyeing his brother until his gaze wandered to Castiel, who was silently standing in the center of the room.

Lucifer said nothing, though Castiel could feel his eyes upon him; he was leaning at the wall and Castiel was sure that he was smirking.

"We need your help. You know we do. Dick's not gonna kill himself." He lifted his head and Castiel flinched slightly as he saw those angry green eyes.

"I have already given you my blood, Dean." The angel replied calmly. "I do not know what else you want."

Dean rolled his eyes and seemed close to kick the nearest object; he was tense, his shoulders straight and his mouth grim.

Sam on the other hand didn't seem grim at all; he seemed worried, though, when wasn't he worried?

"I have been busy..." Castiel mumbled and it wasn't even a lie. However, how was he supposed to tell them that he had been with the 'other' Dean and Sam? That he still didn't know what was real and what wasn't? This here could be real but there was no proof that it was. He was needed at two fronts but he could only be at one.

"I don't fucking care if you have been busy watching bees again!" Dean snapped and Castiel felt himself backing away. He still wasn't used to Dean being angry and tense all the time. Castiel still didn't blame him.

Lucifer chuckled.

"WE fucking need your damn help,okay? After all it is your fault that Dick and his friends run around on earth,right? So stop playing your stupid 'I am so sorry' game and pull yourself together cause I can tell you we don't fucking care if you are broken or not!"

There was silence in the room while Dean tried to calm himself down.

Castiel looked at his feet while Sam stood up. "Don't you think that was a little harsh?" The angel heard the younger brother ask.

Dean huffed in anger. "I don't care Sam,oke? " Of course he did care, he always cared, though he barely showed it in case of Castiel. Especially after everything that had happened.

Castiel knew that Dean didn't hate him, not with his whole heart, but still the words did hurt. They always did hurt.

Lucifer snickered as he walked past Castiel, eyeing the brothers.

"What do you say, Cassie?" Lucifer asked as he walked around the brothers, a curious expression on his face which gave him an almost childlike appearance. "You're needed in two places. Still hard to tell which one is real,right?" He lifted his hands and sighed. "Go back and help to find the Pandorica." He turned around to face Castiel, a grin on his lips. "Or stay here and kill the Dicks."

The Pandorica... _They_ didn't know what it was...Of course, maybe Sherlock Holmes or the Doctor knew what it was, but Castiel couldn't be sure...

Castiel pressed his lips together and his hands balled into fists; he was in a dilemma once more. He couldn't leave now, Dean - this Dean here - would never forgive him. But he could not stay here for the others needed him.

"Hey Cas, are you even trying to listen?" Dean and Sam had turned around to him.

"I am sorry." Castiel sighed as he raised his head to meet the stare of the brothers." I was distracted.."

Dean's voice was full of disappointment as threw himself on the sofa, his gaze directed at the ceiling. "Great, really, great."

"I am sorry." Castiel assured while he took careful steps towards the sofa, his hands playing with the fabric belt of his trench coat; he was always insecure in this 'reality', always a little more broken than when he was with the other Dean and Sam, and he secretly asked himself if that was a sign that THIS was the real world.

He couldn't tell. How could he?

"Just..."Dean sighed as he rubbed his hand over his face; he really tried to stay calm. "Just leave it..." There was a short pause where Dean took his hand away and stared blankly up at the ceiling as if he tried to find an answer up there over his head. "Being sorry doesn't change anything." He finally said, and his voice was full of bitterness.

Castiel nodded slowly, his hands still playing with the belt while his gaze wandered over the chaos of books on the dusty floor. "Right.." He said, carefully, not sure what to say. "Okay."

Sam cleared his throat, a nervous smile on his lips; he tried to lighten the mood but failed miserably. "Maybe we should eat something..."He offered.

Dean snorted, bending his neck over the armrest of the sofa to look at his brother. "Nice try, but do you remember the fact that there is NOTHING to eat for us?"

Sam grimaced, still trying to stay positiv, but his face fell slightly. "Yeah,right...Well, I could ..You know, take the car and ..."

Dean rolled his eyes and turned his gaze back to the ceiling, ignoring both Sam and Castiel.

"I could help you, Sam." Castiel said. It surely was better to leave Dean alone for now. "I am sure we will find something eatable for you."

Dean snorted again but stayed silent.

Sam took a deep breath and nodded slowly. "Okay. Sure, why not."

They both left Dean, who didn't bother to say anything while they left. Maybe he was pouting.

It was cold outside, not too cold but still very chilly. Luckily Castiel didn't feel the cold. Sam turned the collar of his jacket upwards as they walked side by side.

"You know..." Sam finally said as they walked down the porch." I know you're having a hard time and stuff, and I really don't blame you for anything, but Dean on the other hand is a bit resentful...Don't take it too serious, he'll calm down eventually."

Castiel tilted his head; Sam was a good soul, he really was. There weren't much people who would forgive you anything close to what Castiel had done.

"Why?" Castiel asked bluntly.

Sam turned around, his eyebrows raises. It was a cloudy day and the wind was strong today, causing Sam's hair to have a life of its own.

"Why are you..." Castiel waved his hand. "Why are you so nice to me? After all I have done..."

Sam looked at him for a long moment, then he shrugged his shoulders. "Well, everyone makes mistakes, right? And you're my friend, I would forgive you and Dean everything. It's okay man, I was angry at you but I am not angry anymore. You've fixed everything up there-" He raised his hand to his head. "- So I guess that makes things up."

Lucifer began to laugh hysterically while he danced around the two of them. "Isn't that lovely Cassie, isn't it?" He asked. " At least one person who has forgiven you your crimes, how does that feel?"

Castiel, of course, did not answer.

The walk to the car stayed silent exept for Lucifer, who chattered and laughed with amused voice, and the wind. Here and there were some crows to be heard as well. Everything was really bleak.

Castiel had to say that he missed the Impala. Here,in this universe, there was no Impala, just the old car. The Impala was still there, though, hidden underneath a . canvas cover.

"Do you still hear him?" Sam asked suddenly while they sat in the car, not yet driving.

"Yes." Castiel answered, his fingers sliding over the dusty dashboard while he smiled slightly. "Always."

Sam turned his head to him while his hands stayed on the steering wheel, gripping it tightly. "I am sorry to hear that." He said carefully and his voice was full of compassion. Well, who could understand Castiel's current situation better than Sam Winchester?

Castiel shrugged his shoulders as he leaned back to look out of the front window. Someone should wash it, it was dirty...

"Don't be." He answered with his calm voice. "I am okay. In fact I am fine. I feel better than in a long time."

_Because I have deserved this. I shouldn't even be alive...And yet here I am...Paying for my sins, trying to fix what I have broken..._

Lucifer snickered.

...

"Hey, you think we should go now?"

Sam pushed his head out from behind the door frame of the bathroom; they had spent most of the time to google the Pandorica but even Google couldn't help them this time, something that was very frustrating for Sam who was used to find everything on the internet - including the right way to wash your socks.

Dean looked up from his cake, no pie this time, and shrugged his shoulders. "Dunnnno." He hummed with his mouth full of food while he took a sip from his coffee. "Gusswesldgo."

"What?" Sam asked, his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance; it was this weird frown that half looked like he was raising his brows while trying to furrow them at the same time, the one that caused him to look like a kicked puppie. Only Sam did that. Well, he was probably the only human being who was able to do it that way...

"I said-" Dean swallowed and placed his cup on the table. "I guess we should go." He looked at his watch; 12:30.

Half an hour left until their meeting with Holmes and the Doc's.

Dean silently asked himself if this Master guy would join them since the Doctor was so very fond of him..

"You should wake him up." Sam pointed with his toothbrush towards the sofa where a bundle of trench coat and bedspread was lying.

Dean was torn between rolling his eyes and furrowing his brown. "He's sleepin'?"

"Looks like it, duh." Sam's head disappeared in the bathroom again only to show up mere minutes later.

"It's unusual." Dean pointed out as he stood up.

"You can't blame him though." Sam answered as he followed Dean with his eyes, his toothbrush in his mouth. "He's been sleeping in the Impala after we've picked him up from the hospital, remember? Guess it's Lucifer..."

 _Oh,really?_ Dean nearly snapped but managed to keep his mouth shut. The topic Lucifer was always a difficult topic.

"He Cas, time to wake up." Dean poked Cas' shoulder as he leaned slightly forward; the angel was lying with his back towards Dean, his face crushed against the Sofa. "C'mon, you have to get up man, we've to get goin'."

No reaction.

"Hey, c'mon, we don't have time to play any games right now." Dean began to constantly poke Cas shoulder until he was sure even the angel had to feel something close to pain.

"Saaaam..." Dean's eye didn't leave Castiel's still body. "Uhh, I don't wanna interupt whatever ur doing but Cas isn't waking up..."

_...He isn't waking up..._

Suddenly Dean felt very ill.

He had never given a thought about the fact that he could actually lose Castiel again; he was so used to the angel returning all the time that he had never considered the posibillity of his death, his real death, or something worse...

There had been no TIME to think of something like Cas' death or anything like that, not with Dick running around the world and a Pandorica that was needed by a maniac..

Dean could clearly remember the last time he had thought Castiel dead.

He didn't want to think of it again.

But now that Dean looked at the still form of his friend he began to fear for the future. They always died, his friends, his family...They always left, it was just a matter of time..

No matter how many times someone had already died; it always did hurt over and over again when they were dying because it could always be their last time.

You could never be sure.

Cas had returned more than once, maybe this one time had been too much and now they, whoever they were, had decided that it was enough...

Or maybe life was just cruel - and fucked up, in Sam's and Dean's case.

Nah, of course Cas would wake up again, this was probably just a phase or something...

Except if it wasn't...

_Angels do not sleep..._

Dean's heart began to speed up at the thought and his throat felt dry.

"Heh, what's the matter?" Dean heard Sam's solid footsteps behind him as his brother approached.

"He's not waking up." Dean was surprised how strong his voice sounded. _Maybe he's comatose again..._

"Cas? Uh..." Sam carefully shook Castiel by his shoulder as he leaned over the other man. "Castiel, can you hear us?"

First nothing happened and Dean was sure that Castiel had fallen into a comatose state again, but then a soft groan escaped the angel and he began to stir.

Castiel turned around and blinked, seemingly confused, his hair ruffled and his eyes slightly dazed. "Dean, Sam..." Dean noticed that he looked pale and somewhat ill, and of course there were the dark circles under his eyes, but otherwise he seemed fine. At least externally.

"Uh man!" Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He was relieved..Like, really relieved... He wouldn't know what to do if he'd lost Cas again. "Don't do that again! I've thought you've left us again." He meant it to sound amused but he was everything else than amused right now.

Castiel seemed to feel his tension too because he furrowed his brow even further. "I am sorry, I did not mean to make you believe that I have..." He paused. "Left again..."

Well, that much to the happy sappy mood...

"Jah,well, it's oke now." Sam shrugged his broad shoulders. "Though, have you really been asleep? You've seemed to be out cold..."

Castiel tilted his head as he sat up and pushed the blanket aside. "I assume I have been asleep..." He trailed off and for Dean he was sounding as if he wasn't sure himself.

"Well, great!" Dean clapped his hands to avoid further awkward situations. "Let's go,okay?"

He marched towards the door only to be stopped by Sam clearing his throat.

"Yeah we can go as soon as I have my shirt _ON_ and as soon as Cas here looks a bit _more_ like a man and _less_ like a zombie who got hit by a truck."

Cas blinked in confusion. "Zombie?"

The car ride was a disaster, as always.

Sam was totally annoyed because Dean wouldn't stop singing along to Metallica while Sam tried to find any information about the Pandorica. Dean had to admit that he was surprised that Sam was able to get an Internet connection while they were driving around the city, but then again, Sam always managed to get his Internet no matter what. Maybe he had Internet powers or he had made a deal with a demon to get life long Internet connection or something like that...

Castiel was as quiet as always while he watched the streets with his bright blue eyes. He still looked kinda pale and he was nervously playing with the belt of his trench coat.

The sky was still gray but at least there was no rain. That was good. Not that Dean would care a lot but even Dean Winchester would like to have dry clothes while visiting others.

The old smell of wood greeted them as they entered the stairwell. Mrs. Hudson beckoned with a friendly hello before she hastily went back into her flat.

The stairs creaked under their steps and Sam almost hit his head at the low steps from above. Well, not the steps were low, Sam was just too tall. Dean could see the dust dancing in the air as the daylight from outside shone through the windows of the stairwell.

They didn't even need to knock at the dark door; Sherlock opened it with an abrupt movement and almost managed to tear the door off its door hinges. Dean wondered if he had been waiting for them behind the door so he could open it immediately to give them a heart attack.

"Finally!" The detective snapped as he took several steps backwards to let them in. "It seems you have the annoying tendency of coming too late."

"Yeah,sorry." Dean rolled his eyes as they entered the flat. "We were kinda busy."

Sherlock waved off, turning around to walk back to the sofa and his violin. "I have notice that already. Your hair-" He pointed with the violin bow at Sam, who raised his eyebrows in surprise. "- is terribly unruly, something that is unlike you because you care about your hair, otherwise it wouldn't be this long. And you-" The bow was pointed at Castiel. "You have wrinkled clothes, I assume you have still been asleep mere minutes before our meeting. And you-" Finally the bow was pointed at Dean, who gave Sherlock a grim stare. "Your shoes are tied the wrong way and your left trouser leg is in your sock."

How could someone talk so fast within mere minutes? Did he need something like air at all or was he able to live by his intellect alone? Dean wouldn't be surprised if that was the case.

The older Winchester grumbled while he pulled his trouser leg out of his sock. Out of the corner of his eyes could see Sam trying to smooth his hair down.

"Well, that was amusing." Their heads turned around to face the blonde man standing at the window, who had his arms crossed in front of his chest and his head raised. "At least he has another target now. He was annoying me, and you really don't want to annoy ME."

The Master. So Dean's assumption had been right; the Doctor had managed to convince Sherlock and John to accept the Master's help for the hunt.

Dean wasn't sure if he liked that it or not. This guy was obviously mad, annoyed by everyone, but he seemed to know something...At least that had to be the case because otherwise Sherlock would have never agreed.

"Oh, will you kindly shut up!" The Doctor, who sat in the armchair and had been reading newspaper with his glasses on his nose, looked up to give the Master a stern glance. His voice wasn't rude, he was just sounding as if he admonished the other man in a kind way. "Don't be rude."

"I am what I want to be." Was the reply of the Master, who didn't even look at the Doctor. The tension in the air began to grow.

 _Oh fucking great_ , Dean thought as he eyed the man in front of him. They were supposed to be a team hunting a man who possibly wasn't even human, but right now they were like teenagers who were fighting each other.

"Tea, anyone?"

Now everyone looked at John, who stood in the the doorway of the kitchen with a teapot in his hands; he was wearing a white jumper and brown pants and had a smile on his lips.

"No need for tea , John!" Sherlock made a swift hand movement. "You know that we need to focus on the case!"

John furrowed his brow as he walked to his desk, the teapot still in his hands.

"I think it is part of the hospitality to ask your guest if they are hungry or thirsty. Besides, a cup of the won't distract anyone - In fact it will help you with thinking." The soft smile on John's lips became wider.

"I am familiar with the normal terms of hospitality , thank you very much John." Sherlock huffed but was less snappy than he could have been. "You don't need to take a seat though, because we will soon be on our way to Stonehenge. Of course we don't need to hurry since it will only take us roughly two hours to arrive there but I suggest we better be quick since Moriarty surely is on his way as well."

"Whoa whoa! Easy there , tiger!" Dean raised his hands. "Am I the only one or do we miss something?" His eyes went to Sam, who shrugged his shoulders as if to say; dude, don't ask me, I don't know anything either!

"Well, I told them about the Pandorica." The Master answered before Sherlock was able to say anything.

"We." The Doctor corrected the Master without looking up from the newspaper.

"WEEEE-" The Master rolled his eyes. "- told them about what we do know."

"Sorry if I interrupt you...But...Why exactly are you on our side now?" Sam asked, slightly wary. "I mean, last time you didn't seem all to keen to join us."

The Master grinned and leaned back against the window glass. "Well, I changed my mind. People do that, right?" His grin widened, giving him an crazy expression, but his eyes stayed cold as if he wasn't amused at all. "Do you need another explanation or is that enough for you."

Of course it actually wasn't enough for Sam and Dean to trust him but neither of them wanted to risk the own life by asking why. This guy really seemed as if he was close to kill whoever asked too many questions about his personality. Or maybe he was one of those guys who had fun with killing others. Whoever he was, they had to trust him. He was a friend of the Doctor, he had to be okay at least...

Sam forced a grin on his lips. "No, it's fine..I was just curious."

The Master narrowed his eyes and pressed his lips together, still smiling though.

"I don't like curious people. They annoy me, making the drums go louder. I hate that, so shut up and don't ask me questions while being around me."

Uh, that was a slap right in the face. The Master was deadly serious and no humor traced his voice. Dean silently decided to make sure to have his guns within his reach while being around the Master...Just to be sure not to be murdered while being asleep...

"Do you also know what it is meant for?" Castiel asked with his soft voice and Dean was almost surprised to hear him speak since he was so quiet lately.

The Master clicked his tongue as he looked upon Castiel from underneath his eyelashes, still wearing the wicked smile.

"Sure I do. Every Time Lord knows it. The Pandorica is the prison of a warrior who dropped out of the sky. Its presence was causing the worlds and the universe to be torn apart until a good man tricked it, locking it up inside the Pandorica so that it was unable to cause further harm. "

"Why would Moriarty want the power of a warrior who would tear the world apart?" Sam asked as he put his hands on the back of the sofa. " I thought he wants to kind of 'rule the world', so why risking its destruction and his own death by freeing the warrior?"

Sherlock sighed as he stroke the wood of the violin bow with his elegant fingers. "Moriarty is crazy." He said, his voice sounding absent as if he was far away with his mind. "You can never tell what his next step is, what he is planning, only if he wants you to know it. I believe that, whatever it is inside the Pandorica, isn't his real target...This is too easy...It's not like him..." He trailed off, his cat-like eyes on the bow in his hand. He seemed to be deep in thought, trying to figure out what Moirarty really wanted.

"It sounds like a fairy tale to me." Dean finally admitted since no one seemed to want to say something. Really, this was sounding crazy. Someone who was so powerful that he or she - or it - would tear the world apart? Well, then again, Lucifer and Demons were real too..

"Actually, it is a one." The Doctor put the paper down and took of his glasses, putting them into the pocket of his coat as he continued. "Everyone in Gallifrey knew it. The great enemy that would tear the universe apart simply by its existence. They warned us.."

"Tz!" The Master threw his head back against the window glass and snorted. "Warned us? They told us horror stories about it so we would be afraid! Don't leave the nasty things out, doesn't make them any better."

It wasn't clear if he meant their people or the nasty things.

The Doctor furrowed his brow. "It wasn't that bad, they-"

"BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH!" The Master pressed his hands against his ears and closed his eyes. "BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH! Sorry Doc, I am not listening to your lies! I am not like them, you can't manipulate me."

The Doctor fell silent, his eyes serious. He was hurt by the words that the master had uttered.

There was an uncomfortable silence in the room now.

"I did not know that your kind knew of the Pandorica..." Castiel said into the silence.

"Why shouldn't we?" The Master, who had stopped pressing his hands against his ears since he had opened his eyes and had seen the defeated look on the Doctor's face,something that he took with victory in his eyes, eyed Castiel with wary hazel eyes. "How come you know about it, heh?"

"It was designed by us." Was Castiel's reply. "It is one of the few weapons that Balthazar was not able to get his hands on because it was here on earth all the time, hidden from our view."

Dean raised his eyebrows in surprised as he turned around to Castiel. "Dude! We've been searching for information ALL fucking night and you knew everything? Why didn't you tell us anything?"

Probably because Castiel had other things to worry about...And now that Dean took a closer look he could see that Castiel had slung his arm around his middle again, but his expression was stern and his eyes were clear.

 _No, that is no excuse!_ Dean's inner voice growled. _This is his fault, his situation is his fault! He is supposed to help us, being in our way was not part of the plan..._

_Well, that was kinda harsh..._

Castiel sighed as he lowered his eyes to the floor. "I apologize for not being able to help you the last few hours but as you may know I ...have my problems..." He began to tilt his head slowly with every word until Dean was sure his head would fall off. "And I hope you -"

"Okay Okay, we all don't care about that." The Master interrupted the moment with his loud voice while he waved his hands to shush them.

"That's true, we have to focus on the case." Sherlock agreed.

John and Sam exchanged a quick glance, as if they knew something the others didn't, then Sam's eyes turned to Dean who met his brother's gaze with raised eyebrows, the question 'what?' written all over his face.

Sam just shook his head and turned his head back to Sherlock and the Master.

"So, Stonehenge, yes?" Sam asked. "The Pandorica is there? You're sure?"

The Doctor hummed thoughtfully as he rocked his head from side to side. "That's what we assume. At least that's what the story says."

"But, what if it isn't there?" Dean asked, his eyes fixed on the Master, who returned his gaze with dark and wary eyes. "What if it's a trap or something?"

The Master snorted and pushed himself away from the window. "You think I'm lying, right?" The Master slowly walked towards Dean, his hands in the pockets of his pants while his eyes narrowed. "Because I am one of the 'bad guys'. Let me tell you something, hunterrr-" He stopped in front of Dean, his head tilted down so his eyes were in the shadow of his eyebrows as he met Dean's stare. "If anyone is allowed to destroy the world it's me. I won't allow this Moriarty to be the winner of this game." He grinned his cold and crazy grin. Dean swallowed hard but didn't look away. This guy was crazy and Dean wasn't all too keen to work with him...

"Stop it." The Doctor sighed. "You promised to behave..."

The Master spun around. "Promised? OHHH no, nono, I've made no promise! I only agreed to help you idiots because you would be lost without me! You need me because Moriarty brought me back, you want to know why, right? If anyone should behave then it's YOU because I can still leave any time I want!"

Now it was Sherlock's turn to smile dangerously. "Oh , I doubt that you are able to leave us. Technically you are still under arrest for co-working with Moriarty. One wrong movement and we will arrest you." The smile on Sherlock's face was so cold and wrong that even the Master stopped grinning like a maniac.

"Fine." He hissed and backed away from Dean. "Prisoner once more!" The Master turned to face the Doctor, gripping the hem of his black hoodie to show his neck. "Where is my collar?" He was teasing though his voice held real bitterness.

The other Time Lord made an almost hurt grimace and shook his head. "Master..."

"What?" The Master spat, his face a mask of anger. "It's true!"

"It's always ME who ends up in prison and damnation while YOU are never punished for your crimes! Do your friends-" He hissed the word. "- know what you have done? Do they? Have you told them?"

Everyone was quiet while they watched the Master and the Doctor.

The tension in the room was higher than ever.

The Doctor opened his mouth but closed it again, his whole posture telling that he was uncomfortable with the current situation; his shoulders were hunched forward and he almost seemed to duck his head as if to dodge the harsh words. "I haven't told them anything..." He admitted quietly. "But that is not the point..." He took a deep breath as if to steady himself. "Master we-"

"I knew it!" The Master had a look of contempt on his face as he glared at the Doctor. "It's always the same! You play the hero and-"

"Stop it!" It was John who spoke; the short man had his brow furrowed in anger as he stood up and he was pointing with his finger at the Master as he continued to speak. "Stop this now! It's not fair to talk like this about him in front of us. We don't know you, neither do we really now the Doctor, and whatever happened between you should stay between you two unless you both are sure we should hear it. It's no time to fight, not now! We all barely know each other but yet we manage to tear each other apart! That is not how it is supposed to work! We are supposed to work together! Does anyone of you think we will manage to catch Moriarty if we can't trust each other?"

John glared at all of them, then he huffed and sat down on his chair again,all anger leaving his expression while everyone in the room stared at him. Neither of them had expected him to say anything like that and his words hit everyone of them with a certain force. "I just think we should start to...get along.."

The Master said nothing more but to Dean could see that he was still angry.

"Well, now that we have clarified everything -" Sherlock stood up and carefully placed the violin bow on the small table in front of the sofa before he happily clapped his hands as if nothing had happened at all. "- I think we should go, right?"

John sighed deeply and rubbed his forehead, causing Sherlock to turn his head towards him. "What?"

John waved off and shook his head. "Timing, Sherlock."

Sherlock appeared confused and raised both of his eyebrows. "I don't understand. What is wrong with my timing?"

 _Well, you have basically destroyed the moment that his personal speech about team work has created mere minutes ago..._ Dean silently answered him in his mind.

"It's okay Sherlock..Just try to ..." John searched for the right words but obviously failed. "You're right. We should go."

Sherlock smiled triumphantly and nearly jumped over to the coat hook to get his long black coat.

"Do you even have a car?" Dean asked while he and Sam followed John and Sherlock with their eyes. "No, but luckily I have forseen the problem and have asked my brother to lend me one of his shiny cars." Sherlock answered as he put on his blue scarf; he was jittery with excitement and couldn't wait to go.

"Asked?" John blinket. "I thought he said no..."

"And? I have my connections."

"You can't drive..."

"But you can. So -" Sherlock spread his arms and grinned. "Ready to go?"


	9. We're all doomed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is inside the Pandorica?  
> And, do they really want to know?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg, srry srry guys, somehow this chappy took me some time. Holidays now! Means I might be able to update faster ;)

_**Chapter 8** _

One thing was sure; he would NOT share a car with the Doctor or Sherlock because both of them were annoying him to the point where it hurt.

Oh, the Doctor had been happy to see him again, had almost been crying, and the Master had almost believed his lie of being sorry.

Surely he was not sorry, why would he be sorry, surely he had been glad to finally be free of the Master and all the chaos that he was always causing.

Of course the Master knew the Doctor very well, better than anyone who was still alive, and of course the Master knew that the Doctor would never want to get rid of him because he still had hope...Hope for the Master to heal, to become someone like those many silly human _friends_ he called _companions_...

The Doctor would never want to get rid of him, no, because he loved him far too much to ever let go of what had already been lost decades ago... He was so full of _hope_ , this silly old man, even after everything that had happened, after everything that HE himself had done, after everything the Master had done...

Yes, the Master knew that the Doctor loved him with both of his hearts but the Master was like a petulant child, refusing to believe the truth even if it was right in front of his eyes.

He refused to see the truth because he couldn't handle it; he couldn't handle the fact that the Doctor still had hope for him.

 _Lies, lies, lies, lies!_ The drums screamed every time he dared to feel something close to affection or forgiveness.

How was the Doctor able to forgive? To start anew? Wasn't the past haunting him like it was haunting the Master day for day?

The hearts of the Time Lord ached as he thought of his former friend. They had been friends, once, a lifetime ago, and oh it had been fun, but now it was just...tiring...

The Master didn't even know what they were now, now that they weren't friends nor enemies.

Now they had different views on the worlds, on the universe, on everything, and it would never be like it had been. That was what the Master believed to be true and there was nothing in the universe that could...fix...anything...That cold fix _him.._

That was why the Master was blocking every kind of affection and care with sarcasm and bitterness, building a wall of lonliness around himself.

It was his best defense.

He was better off alone.

The drums were getting louder when the Doctor was around, with his _concerned face_ and his _sentiment_ and his _love_ and _trust_ and _emotions._

How annoying.

How tiring...

The Master took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a few moments while the others were debating something that was not of his concern.

Or, maybe it was, he just didn't care right at the moment because he could feel the intense stare of the Doctor.

"Stop it."The Master growled and opened his eyes to see a pair of big brown eyes staring at him. "I am not going to date you, even if you continue to stare at me as if I am made of gold."

The Doctor raised both of his eyebrows and the Master grinned.

"Heh, so, what now?" Dean Winchester was leaning against the side of his shiny car, his arms crossed in front of his chest. "I thought you wanna get goin', so why are we waiting here?"

Sherlock Holmes straightened his back and raised his chin to look down on the other man; the Master had noticed that Sherlock wasn't much taller than the Doctor or Dean Winchester, but somehow he often appeared taller than both of them. Maybe it was because of his unruly dark locks or because he used to walk tall and straight?

The Master saw his chance now and with steady steps he strode over to the Winchesters and the angel. "I am going with them." He announced and crossed his arms in a defensive posture, allowing no contradiction.

The expression on Dean's face was priceless; it was a mixture of utter shock and dislike while his brother was merely raising an eyebrow in surprised.

"You're sure?" Sam asked, sounding a bit wary. "I'm just asking because upstairs you seemed to like neither of us..."

The Master snorted and pushed the older Winchester aside to get into the car.

"I don't LIKE anyone of you!" The blonde Time Lord hissed as he opened the door of the Impala to climb into the back of the car, much to the anger of Dean. "I HATE all of you, just you know. Exept for him -" He pointed with his index-finger at the angel, who watched him with a calm expression. "- because he doesn't talk much." And because the drums were quieter if he was near the angel.

"But Master!" The Doctor jumped to the side of the Impala to be able to look at the Master, who was now inside of the black car. The Master stared ahead, rolling his eyes while the Doctor tried to talk to him.

"I think it would be better if we travel together. We could spend some more time together -"

"We already had the _lovely_ _night_ in Scotland Yahhhaaard..."

"- and I think it will be fun -"

" _Coooould_ be fun."

"- if you join us -"

" _If I join you_."

"- for the ride."

The Doctor sighed and shook his head as he leaned further through the open window towards the Master. Dean was grumbling something and the Master was sure that the older Winchester wasn't very fond of the people around - and inside- his car. "Just leave it be! I don't want to join you and your dumb friends." The Master hissed and crossed his arms in front of his chest, clearly trying to emphasize his rejection.

"Hey, dude, my car - my rules! I don't wanna drive with you." Dean Winchester strolled over to place himself next to the Doctor, his face an annoyed mask.

The Master rolled his eyes and waved off. "Why? Are you afraid your boyfriend is going to be more interested in me than in you?"

The older brother was taken aback and raised his eyebrows in pure surprise until realization dawned on his freckled face, replacing the surprise with anger. The Hunter's green eyes flickered to the trench coat wearing angel and back to the Master. "Listen to me -" He hissed between his teeth, trying to stay calm and collected. "I ain't gonna start a fight with you right now but-"

"Sure you won't!" The Master replied caustically, interrupting the human. "You would lose anyway! I have made my decision; I'll stay in this car!"

There was an awkward silence where everyone tried to come up with an argument but failed.

"I am not going to leave this car." The Master said, his voice calm but his body tense. "You would have to drag me out." He smiled coldly. "And you don't want to hurt me, do you?"

He turned his head to his side to meet the big brown eyes of the Doctor; the other Time Lord had a stern face and his lips were pressed into a thin line.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean growled and pushed himself away from his car to walk back to his brother and the angel, showing his anger and frustration with every step he took towards them.

"You are rude." The eyes of the Doctor were staring holes into the Master's head.

"I've never change, unlike you." The smile of the Master grew colder.

"Maybe you're right." The Doctor straighten up and turned around to join John and Sherlock; the detective and the army doctor were waiting next to the other car, both silent as they watched the others from a safe distance.

The Master felt a bit colder as the Doctor left him without saying anything else; of course the Master had wanted him to go but usually the Doctor was fighting back with humorous words before he left...Now he was just so calm and ...serious.

The blonde Time Lord sighed as he watched the others through the window of the car.

"You can follow our car." John offered. " We have a navigation system in the car so..." He trailed off and shrugged his shoulders. "It would be easier for you just to follow us while we're following the navigation system."

"Right, sounds like a plan." Sam Winchester smiled while Dean seemed pissed off by everything right now. The eyes of the hunter always wandered back to his beloved car and the Master as if he was afraid the Master would destroy the car if he wasn't looking at him.

 _Ha, take that!_ The Master thought while sticking out his tongue. Somehow he felt something close to satisfaction now that he sat inside the car; maybe it was because Dean - or anyone of the others - could do nothing about the him sitting inside the car, maybe it was because the hunter's annoyed face was just too priceless.

Dean made a grimace and turned his head back to John and Sherlock. "Yeah,great..."

There was a short talk after which the Winchesters walked back to the car, Castiel in tow.

Sam tried to appease his brother by talking to him with a soft look in his eyes. "C'mon Dean, he won't do anything; neither to us nor to your car. He knows that he wouldn't get through it without being punished..."

Dean growled and narrowed his eyes as he violently opened the driver's door. "Yeah,sure." The older Winchester spat as he climbed into his car, shutting the door as forcefully as he had opened it. Sam sighed while he and Castiel joined Dean and the Master in the car.

There was an awkward silence after they sat together in the car, Dean and Sam together in the front, the Master and Castiel in the back of the Impala.

"One wrong movement-" Dean reached for the radio. "One wrong movement and I swear I'll throw you out of my car." His voice was deadly serious and the Master didn't doubt that the older hunter meant every word he had said.

"Sure sure." The Master waved off as he leaned back against the leather of the seats. "Don't worry, I won't touch a thing." Seriously, there wasn't much for the Master to touch anyway. Okay, maybe the leather of the seats or the glass of the windows, or the angel next to him, but nothing more. He couldn't even destroy anything even if he had wanted to. And he rather sat in this car next to the weird angel, listening to whatever music Dean was listening to, instead of being thrown out of a driving car. Of course he wouldn't die if they would throw him out, but it would hurt, and if the Master could choose then he would always choose the more comfortable way which in this case was staying inside the car.

Dean huffed and started the engine.

Sam took a deep breath before he turned his head around to the Master and Castiel but Dean turned up the music before Sam could say anything. Sam snorted, rolling his eyes as he turned back in his seat.

The tension was high, the music was too loud and the drums inside his head were driving him _mad_.

_Wow._

It was then that the Master realized that this would be the most _funniest_ car ride _ever_.

Maybe being thrown out of the Impala wasn't the worst thing that could possibly happen to him because suddenly it seemed much more appealing than staying inside the car with those idiots.

The ride was boring. Everyone was quiet, no one daring to say a word due the tension in the air, and the Master had a headache because of the loud music. At least the drums were quieter than usually. Dean was still angry, his tight grip around the steering wheel causing the knuckles of his hands to stand out white against his skin.

First the Master had tried to watch the outside world through the window but soon he found that the rush of gray was boring and not entertaining at all, and so he turned his head to look at something else. His gaze was caught by the angel next to him and he leaned back to take a closer look.

The human eye couldn't see the enormous black wings which seemed to cut through the metal of the Impala as if they were made out of thin air. They were black as the night but not dark at all; they seemed to glow in a soft bluish light, as well as the unnaturally blue eyes and the pale skin, and the Master was sure that those humans couldn't see this special glow either.

It was the angel's blue grace pulsing underneath the thin skin of his human vessel, trying to break out of the meat suit in which it had been forced into.

But those wings ...They seemed to be made of energy - _grace?_ \- , yet at the same time they looked like feathers, but the Master was sure he could hear something close to glass crunching against glass every time the wings were moved. And yes, the single feathers looked like they were made of glass, or diamond, but yet they seemed soft, though he was sure they could be used as weapons...This was illogical, the whole structure was anything else than normal, and the Master couldn't explain what he was seeing.

It was simply supernatural and beautiful, and he pitied the humans for their weak senses because those wings were breathtaking. But, maybe they didn't deserve to see them.

Even if they were black they seemed to reflect the light, causing them to shimmer in different colors. So they were black, black feathers underneath a layer of glass, sharp as a blade and yet at the same time softer than anything else.

The Master couldn't resist; he reached out to touch the nearest wing.

Seemingly this was a mistake because the angel flinched slightly, his wings stretching out wide before he pressed them flat against his back, his head immediately turning to the Master.

The Master didn't back off nor did he flinch, instead he held the intense gaze of the other man; Castiel wasn't angry, he just tilted his head and gave the Master a questioning look as if he tried to figure out what the Master had intended to do.

"Sorry." The Master grumbled, something that a normal human being would have never heard since the music was so loud that even screaming was difficult to understand. It was a half-hearted attempt to excuse his action but at least he had tried. Normally he never said sorry, but this time he felt like saying it. Maybe it was because it was an angel in front of him, someone who actually didn't seem to hate or pity him.

"Why?" The angel asked, his head still tilted. It was a honest question.

The Master furrowed his brow. "For trying to...touch them." He gestured towards the wings.

Castiel blinked, then he smiled slightly. "No need to be sorry, Lord of time... I was simply surprised by the action itself. Pulling back my wings was merely a reflex since I am not used to them being touched." His voice was soft and the music should have easily drowned it but the Master could hear every word that was said.

The Master furrowed his brow as he studied the angel's expression. "So, you don't touch wings up there in heaven?" He asked, almost wary.

Castiel almost snorted in amusement. "No. Not really. They are seen as means of transportation and therefore do not need to be touched by others, unless it is required due an injury."

The Master raised an eyebrow at the angel. "Really?" Those wings seemed so beautiful. The Master had been sure they also served another purpose than simply for transportation, something like seeing the rank and stuff...

But, who knew if the angel was lying...

Castiel nodded with stern face before he turned back to look out of the window again; his right arm was tightly wrapped around his middle and the Master was sure he could see the slightest grimace of pain on the pale face before his head was turned.

The talk was clearly over now.

But the drums were quieter now, better, even better than before; it was as if not only the mere presence but also the voice of the angel helped against those nasty drums and the Master was eager to keep them quiet.

 _That_ was why he continued to talk.

"They are beautiful." He said, casually.

Castiel's head turned back to the Master, surprise in his sky blue eyes as if no one had every said something like that. "You think they are?" He asked, his voice as calm and low as always but with an almost shy undertone.

The Master nodded and grinned.

"But they are marked..." The angel trailed off and absently stroke the glass of the window with his long fingers as his head turned back to the window; he seemed unable to understand how someone could consider something like his marked wings, something imperfect and damaged, as beautiful.

The Master huffed as he leaned back against the seat. ""Doesn't make them less beautiful." And he meant it, something that surprised even himself. "Just because they are 'damaged' or marked or whatever doesn't make them ugly."

Castiel smiled sadly, still gazing out of the window. "But it makes them less perfect. Less _pure_..." He was so sad, looking so broken, as if it was a big deal for an angel to remain pure. Maybe it was, the Master didn't know. He wasn't even sure if it was still all about the wings, no, Castiel seemed far away with his mind somewhere else thinking about something far more important than the color of his once white wings.

The Master briefly wondered what had happened that an angel had lowered himself down on the same level with humans, that he was driving with them in a car, that he was risking his life for something as stupid as their hunt.

Why would a creature like an angel do something like that?

The Master would never do it, he would never lower himself down, no, he was far too proud and he would always cling to his pride because that was all he had left. This angel in front of him had nothing left, not even his pride and neither his white wings, and the Master felt sorry for him.

He must be stupid, this angel, to have fallen so far from heaven.

The Master sighed and crossed his arms. His voice was bitter as he finally spoke; "Pure...Who's still pure these days? There's always something that taints your 'soul'." _Oh yes, something like drums inside your head, driving you mad..._

Castiel didn't answer, just continued to stare out of the window, and the Master's gaze turned forwards. His gaze met Dean's, who was watching him through the rearview mirror; the older Winchester had a grim expression on his face and his green eyes narrowed as they met the dark ones of the Master.

The Master was sure that the older Winchester was really pissed that he hadn't been able to understand a word that had been exchanged between the Master and Castiel.

The Time Lord grinned triumphantly.

...

Sherlock paced up and down, waiting for the other car to arrive. Luckily it didn't took them all too long and they arrived soon after Sherlock, John and the Doctor had arrived.

Sherlock straightened his back and pulled up the collar of his coat, a gesture that he had grown used to. John was sure that he tried to look mysterious with his upturned collar, and maybe the army doctor was right.

"So, finally here you are." Sherlock put his hands in the pockets of his coat.

The Winchesters walked up to them, the Master and Castiel following them quietly. The Master had his eyes narrowed as he studied the surroundings. To be quite honest there was not much to be seen...

"So,here we are, what now?" Dean asked as he, too, took a look around. "Big circle of stones..." He pointed out, almost impressed.

Sam snorted and almost seemed close to facepalm. "Yes, Dean..."

Sherlock turned away from the brothers to face the Doctor, who took a closer look at the stones, his long-fingered hand sliding over the old stone as if it was made out of glass. "I assume the Pandorica is underneath?"

The Doctor pulled back his hand and turned to Sherlock, watching him over the rim of his glasses. "Yes yes, well, that is the only option, right?"

John, who had joined Sherlock, coughed slightly as he let his gaze wander. "Oh, I wouldn't be surprised if it would suddenly appear out of nowhere."

The Doctor huffed as he took off his glasses. "Don't be ridiculous! Nothing just appears out of nowhere! Weeeell, at least nothing like the Pandorica..." The skinny man put the glasses inside the pocket of his long coat, then he began to jump towards the middle of the circle, his long legs easily carrying him.

The others followed the Doctor, no one quite sure what to do.

There was one stone in the middle, one of medium size, and the Doctor crouched down to take a closer look at said stone. "There has to be an opening here."He mused, rummaging about in the pocket of his coat until he finally pulled out his Sonic Screwdriver.

"I am not sure if _that_ will help." The Master snorted as he walked up to stand next to the Doctor.

"May or not, we will see." The Doctor said and pressed his lips together, his tongue between his lips as he focused on the task of opening the hidden way underneath.

The Doctor pointed the Sonic Screwdriver at the stone, his brow furrowed as he waited.

Actually, nothing happened.

"See, I told you!" The Master huffed while he crossed his arms, his face scrunched into an arrogant expression.

"I only tried!" The Doctor hissed back as he stood up, brushing off the dirt from his trousers. "It could have worked!"

" _It doesn't do wood_!" The Master hissed back, imitating the voice of the Doctor in a very bad and annoying way. "So why would it do stone?"

"It could have been a disguise!"

The Time Lords continued to argue over the topic while the angel gracefully walked past them to stop in front of the stone.

Castiel tilted his head, his bright blue eyes slightly narrowed as if he was trying to read something, then he put his hand on the stone and began to mumble something in a language that even Sherlock didn't know of.

"What is he doing?" John whispered, his eyes on Castiel and the slight glow that appeared underneath his hands.

"Speaking something in enochian." Dean answered, his eyes as well on the dark haired angel. "Guess he's opening the gate..."

It was true; the angel opened the gate with ease, causing the Time Lords to stop fighting.

"Well, that was interesting." Sherlock hummed as he walked past the Time Lords to take a look at the passage leading into the darkness below.

John sighed deeply ; "I think I... stop being surprised..."

Sherlock snorted as he grabbed the sonic screwdriver out of the hands of the Doctor, his left foot already on the first step of the stone stairway. The detective had no clue how the sonic screwdriver worked but he knew that it had a torch and light was what he needed right now.

"Wait, wait!" The Doctor took the sonic screwdriver out of Sherlock's hand as he walked past him into the darkness. "We don't know if there is someone..." He trailed off before he carefully went down into the darkness, the blue light of the sonic screwdriver leading the way.

Dean groaned and rolled his eyes, a torch in his hand as he made his way down into the darkness, following the Doctor and the light of his sonic screwdriver. Sherlock raised an eyebrow since he hadn't noticed the torch before.

"Are you comin' or what?" The older Winchester yelled from below.

And so they all were coming...

It was colder below, probably because of the stone walls, and it had the typical basement smell - old and musty. Their steps echoed from the walls and their breath seemed louder than it actually was.

Some would call this atmosphere 'a cause for goosebumps' but for Sherlock this was nothing more than another crime scene, though there was no murderer _yet._ He wouldn't be surprised if there was another dead body; Moriarty was unpredictable...

They could see the Pandorica before they could see anything else in the room made of stone; the rectangular container stood in the middle of the room, abandoned and left alone without any visible or living protection. The only hint of protection were the symbols upon the metallic surface of the Pandorica, symbols that Sherlock had never seen before.

"Well, that's a huge box..." Dean muttered while he warily eyed the Pandorica; he seemed to be wary of a lot of things but maybe that was because he had seen too many dangerous things during the hunts.

Castiel, however, furrowed his brow as he walked up to the big box with steady steps which showed no fear. "This is strange." The angel said as he tilted his head, his too blue eyes roaming over the symbols and signs.

"What is it?" Sherlock walked up to the angel while the Doctor walked around the Pandorica to take a closer look at the different symbols on the surface of the container. The Master followed every movement of the Doctor with his eyes while he himself stood quietly in the corner of the room next to the exit from which they had entered the room.

"The symbols..."Castiel hesitantly reached out to touch the cool metal. "They are different..." His eyebrows furrowed even more as if he was trying to understand the meaning of the new symbols.

"Is it still enochian?" Sam had joined them, his eyes wandering over the box in front of them.

"Yes, it is." The angel nodded solemnly. "But the meaning is different...I can not remember those signs. They are very old...It means someone must have changed the lock."

"But, how do we open the thing now?" Dean asked and leaned forward to look at the symbols.

Sherlock snorted in annoyance as he pushed Dean aside. "Opening it would be the worst thing we could do right now."

The others gave him a surprised look; of course, again they couldn't understand him and his brilliant mind.

"Why?" John asked, his eyebrow raised in surprise. "I mean, wasn't it the point of coming here?"

Sherlock smiled cooly as he shook his head, his hands loosely folded together in front of his chest. "No, John. The whole point was to see if the Pandorica is still here. Well, I have to admit, first I have thought we should take a look inside to see what it is that Moriarty wants, but...No. He wants us to open it for him, so that is why we will not open it at all."

Dean Winchester huffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Why are you so sure about that, eh?"

The older Winchester didn't like Sherlock and in return Sherlock didn't like him. Sherlock rolled his eyes as he turned around to the older hunter.

"Because of two things - First; do we really want to open a prison that holds a creature that could destroy the world? No, we don't want to risk anything, we just want to make sure that Moriarty doesn't get his hands on it. The second thing is; if Moriarty is so keen about getting the Pandorica why would he waste his time by waiting? He would follow us, maybe he would already be here waiting for us to see him, because he always wants to be seen. This all leads to one question; what does Moriarty really want and why are we here, alone, without any intruders? Isn't it strange that the box is merely protected by the lock itself?"

Everyone was very quiet, looking at Sherlock, as suddenly a soft _click_ was to be heard.

Everyone immediately turned around to the Pandorica; the symbols and signs began to glow in a greenish light and several more clicking sounds were to be heard.

"What the hell?" Dean backed away, the torch in his hands replaced by a gun.

The Doctor stumbled around the Pandorica, his face pale as he raised his hands. "Sorry, sorry! I've just wanted to take a closer look at this one symbol!"

Sherlock hissed in anger as he stepped forward to grab the Doctor by the collar of his coat. "What did you do?" He bellowed, causing the Doctor to flinch. Sherlock could see out of the corner of his eyes that the Master took several steps towards them, his hands balled into fists as if he wanted to protect the Doctor from Sherlocks wrath, but the other Time Lord did not interupt Sherlock's action.

"I...I just touched the symbol, nothing more!" The Doctor took a deep breath as if to steady himself, his big brown eyes even bigger underneath his glasses.

Sherlock let go of the Doctor, turning around to face Castiel. "You! What is happening!" He demanded to know.

Castiel didn't flinch at the anger of the detective like the Doctor had, but his blue eyes narrowed slightly. "It opens." Was the answer of the angel, his voice low and quiet.

Sherlock groaned and tore at his unruly mop of dark hair. That was unbelievable! Exactly what Moriarty wanted!

"But, how?" Sam's eyes wandered from the glowing symbols over the Doctor to Castiel, surprise and disbelief written over his face.

"Does it matter _how_?" Sherlock paced up and down, his cat-like eyes on the Pandorica which still made those clicking sounds. The different locks were opened... "The better question is; how to close it again?"

The detective turned around again, his index-finger pointing at the angel. "Close it."

Castiel blinkt. "I am sorry?"

"Close it! You are able to speak the language, you know the symbols, so close it before it is too late!"

Dean grabbed Castiel by his arm in a very possessive behavior, staring at Sherlock as if he wanted to murder him if he took one more step towards the angel. "Hey, calm down man!" The hunter growled.

Castiel gave Dean a short glance, and for a brief moment Sherlock could see different emotion behind those blue eyes before Castiel directed his gaze at the Pandorica.

"I can not close it, I don't know how."

They all were silent as they stared at each other, neither of them having an idea how to stop the opening of the Pandorica.

"We're all doomed..." Dean mumbled, still clutching Castiel's arm, but the angel didn't seem to mind. "We're so dead ..."

"Maybe we should leave the room." The Master suggested, sounding as if he was casually talking about the weather; he seemed to be the only one who wasn't afraid of the creature inside the Pandorica.

Sherlock violently shook his head. "No. No, that is exactly what Moriarty would want!"

The final _click_ echoed through the room, then there was silence, the green light of the Pandorica the only source of light in the dark room, illuminating their faces in a pale greenish white.

Neither of them dared to breath, their eyes fixed on the big metallic box in front of them.

There was a loud squeak and the sound of metal against metal as the front of the Pandorica slowly opened itself.

They all were holding their breath, their eyes wide.

What would be inside the Pandorica?

What creature could destroy the whole universe by its existance?

Would it attack them?

Neither of them knew the answers.

The door was finally open and Sherlock felt his heartbeat quicken. Inside the Pandorica, strapped to a metallic chair was-

"Uhm, hello?"

John's face became white.

"I am the Doctor."


	10. Well, that's a surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's always nice to see a familiar face...Right?

**Chapter 9**

"Uhm, hello? I am the Doctor."

This was not what Dean had expected.

Monster, evil creatures, ghosts, whatever, he had seen them all and he was sure that there were far far worse creatures out there than...this.

The man was maybe about as old as Sam, his eyes greenish and his face the form of a triangle, though Dean was sure that the hairdo had a great influence on the 'triangle look'. He wore a tweed jacket over a dress shirt and Dean could also spot a blue bow tie. A bow tie? Really?

"Uh, uh...That's..That's not good." The man began to struggle against the metallic bindings of the chair, his brow furrowed.

"Who are you?" Sherlock stepped forward, his deep voice echoing from the walls as his cat-like eyes narrowed while observing the man. It was kinda scary how the green light of the Pandorica was reflected by the cold eyes, letting them appear even colder and more alien.

"That's him..."John, who was utterly pale now, pointed at Mr. bow tie. "The Doctor who came to visit me when I was a little kid. I remember him."

The man looked up now, his eyes wandering over their faces until he met John's gaze. Watson stood there as if he didn't know what to do with himself. So, he did know this man...? But how...?

"But, that means..." The Doctor trailed off, looking pale as well now while his eyebrows shot up. "Me..." He breathed, and Dean had no idea what he was talking about. "What?"

"Me." The Doctor turned towards Dean and Sam, his brown eyes wider than ever. There was a strange gleam in those eyes, realisation dawning in the deep brown orbs. "He's me. My future-self."

 _Okay, cool..."_ Sure..." Dean trailed off. "Right..."

The Master took a deep breath as he rolled his eyes; "The Winchesters don't know about the regenerations."

Regenerations? Future Doctor? What the hell was going on?

"It's true." The voice of the man, Doctor 2.0 or whatever he called himself, echoed through the room. He had a kind, lively, voice. "I am the eleventh Doctor." Oh...Okay, or the eleventh...

Eleven furrowed his brow again, his face a grimace of pain. "But this is not right..I shouldn't be here I...I shouldn't meet myself, that's not good, not good at all..."

Sherlock sighed and turned his head to look at the Doctor. _Ten,_ Dean assumed, _he must be the tenth then_. "Doctor...What is going on?" The detective's deep voice was low and he spoke slowly, carefully, as if he ,too, feared that something was terrible wrong.

Dean, however, was just totally confused. "Dude, I don't understand a thing!" He whispered, his eyes still on the eleventh Doctor.

"Well...I think now is not the best time to ask questions..." Sam muttered, eyeing Eleven as well. "'Guess everyone is really really confused right now." Well, that was true.

But, on the other hand, if angels were able to move through time and space then why not a Time Lord as well? Uh, well, it was in the name, right? _Time Lord..._ However, it did not explain why Doc eleven looked nothing like Doc ten. "A new vessel, maybe?" Dean mused. At least that was the only way to explain it right now.

"No." Dean's eyes darted to his left side; Castiel had his eyes on Eleven and his head was slightly tilted as he spoke. "The body changes along with the soul, though it is still the same man."

"I still don't understand a thing but fine..." Dean shook his head to emphasize the fact that he had no idea what the angel was talking about.

He returned his attention to the other Doctor, or future Doc, who seemed to be more than a little bit panicked.

"This is impossible, this shouldn't be, nonononoNO!" The man shook his head as if trying to get rid of the thoughts in his head.

The Doctor, Ten, mumbled something, nervously biting his lower lip while he twirled the sonic screwdriver in his hand. He, too, seemed to have a bad feeling about the whole situation. _But_ , Dean wondered _, what is so damn bad about meeting your future-self?_

Suddenly he remembered the time when HE had seen HIS future-self, as he had seen the future Cas, and Lucifer wearing Sam as vessel...Even now he felt sick when he thought about it and he would try everything to prevent it from happening.

Yeah, that future had sucked but this right now was not the same situation. He had been from the past meeting his future-self in the future, this was the future Doc meeting the past Doc in the future-past or whatever...

Whoa, well...that was weird. Dean's whole brain began to feel like jelly as he began to think about it.

What effect could that have on your own past? Would that change anything?

Maybe this was a really serious thing? Every false step could change the past of the Doctor - or everyone's past. Though, maybe it was supposed to happen this way? Cas had once said that changing the past is impossible, but what about the future? Oh well, damn! Time travelling was so fucking complicated.

Right now everyone seemed to be a little bit perplexed and even Sherlock seemed to have difficulties to cope with the current situation, something that made Dean grin with satisfaction, though, if even Sherlock did not know what to do...

Well, fuck.

"The future is changing, someone must have changed a fixed point in time but...How, and why and..."Eleven mumbled, his eyes nervously darting around the semi-dark room. He seemed kinda confused... "Argh my head is killing me, past-me, you're thinking too loud and ugh, could someone please help me? It's ...uh...a little bit uncomfortable in this chair and I think I haven't been out of it for two years so please..." He babbled, his body tense underneath the tweed jacket while tugging at the bindings, and once more Dean had the feeling that the poor guy was even more overwhelmed by the whole situation than anyone of them.

"Wait, he's from the future, right?" Sam suddenly said, his eyes alert.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Seems like it, duh."

"But, doesn't that mean he knows everything his past-self will do or think?" Sam mused, his index-finger tapping against his chin. He turned his head towards Dean as he asked; "He said the past changed, right?" Dean nodded. "Well, that means it's constantly changing inside his head as well."

Dean blinked in suprise. Now, that explained the pained expression and the headache.

"We should help him." John finally said, taking two steps towards the Pandorica before he was stopped by Sherlock's firm hand on his shoulder. "Wait." Sherlock hissed, his eyes not on John but on Eleven. "Don't you think there is a reason why he is inside the Pandorica?"

Dean snorted and everyone turned around to face him, causing him to raise his eyebrows in annoyed surprise. "What?" He asked. "C'mon guys, you can't tell me that you think that he's more dangerous than a goul!"

He heard Castiel mumbling,"Gouls can be quite dangerous, Dean..." but it was easily drowned by the growing voices of the others.

"Don't underestimate him." The Master snorted. "He is childish but far more dangerous than you believe! Did he tell you that he killed our whole race?" The Doctor flinched and a flicker of pain crossed his face.

Well,THAT was a surprise but-

"Just because he looks like that -" Sherlock began, waving his hand at the poor man inside the Pandorica. "- doesn't mean that he is not dangerous."

"Come on guys!" John interrupted the others. "He is my friend, I know him! He is a good man! This must be a mistake!"

"Ohohoho," The Master whistled and crossed his arms in front of his chest, giving John an up and down glance. " _I_ wouldn't be so sure about that, army man." He seemed angry and wary...Somehow Dean had the feeling that he didn't seem to trust the future Doc. But why? Did he know him? Or, was it because of what Ten had done already? Was the Master afraid of what Eleven could do? Would do?

"You know that I can very well hear you?" Pointed Eleven out but was ignored by the others who seemed to be too busy with yelling at each other. It was Ten who took a deep breath before he finally nearly screamed. "This is _ME_ you're talking about!"

The Master swirled around, his face a mask of anger as he pointed his index-finger at the Doctor. "Exactly!" He took several steps towards the Doctor until he stood in front of the other Time Lord, his index-finger still raised and nearly poking the Doctor's chest. "And you know that we can't trust you, don't you? Because you know that all you cause is chaos!" The Doctor flinched, well known guilt visible in his eyes. "No wonder that they've decided to put you in that damn box, I would've done that too!"

Ouch, that must have hurt.

The Doctor stared at the Master, emotions flickering across his face, his eyes wide in disbelief and pain; he was hurt, angered, but most of all he seemed to agree with the statement, self-hatred making it's way through the other emotions. Dean knew that feeling, he had blamed himself for so much and he still wasn't over much of his past actions and the things that had happened because of them, and that was why he felt sorry for the Doctor. He was sure the Time Lord hadn't meant to do any bad to the world, no, he was far too good-hearted and had no intentions of causing chaos, that much was sure.

 _No matter what you do, you always fuck it up, hm?_ ...Dean thought grimly as he felt the well known painful stab in his chest, _Sounds familiar..._

"Yeah..." The Doctor muttered, bitterness hearable in his voice as he lowered his head in defeat, his shoulders hunching forward while his eyes were fixed on his sneakers. "I know." He looked up again, pain still visible in his darkened eyes, but his voice was strong as he spoke. "But that doesn't mean I can't make it better. Something is wrong here, and I think we should at least give me a chance!" He stopped and furrowed his brow. "Weeell...Future-me."

"You had so many chances..." The Master whispered, and Dean could hear how upset the blonde Time Lord was even if his voice was totally calm and low.

"Well, so had you." Was the reply of the Doctor, whose face was kind while his voice was almost gentle, though there was sadness still.

The Master narrowed his eyes and he was about to say something as suddenly the sound of clapping echoed from the walls, interrupting the Master and startling the others.

"Well, that was nice."

Their heads turned immediately back to the Pandorica.

"Really heartbreaking. I am deeply moved."

Next to the Pandorica, clad in a dark leather jacket, boots and jeans, stood ... Molly Hooper. Dean vaguely remembered her, the shy girl from the morgue who did blush at comments about her hair and seemed to have zero self-confidence, who was always pushed aside and overlooked. The young woman leaned with her left side against the Pandorica, her gaze bored as she watched them.

"Molly?" Sherlock and John asked at the same time, both with disbelief in their voices.

No.

No,this was not Molly Hooper, exept if she was a really really smart actress.

No one could blush like that on command and her shyness had been one hundred percent real, Dean was sure of that. And, there was this feeling, a shiver that ran down the back of his neck and over his spine

Dean turned his head to Castiel, who slowly shook his head.

"No." Dean, Sam and Castiel said, their eyes on the woman. Castiel's hands balled into fists before he opened them again just to grab the belt of his trench coat; his face was grim, looking even paler in the dim green light of the Pandorica than Dean could remember seeing it outside.

A bad feeling began to spread in Dean's stomach and he silently cursed their bad luck.

The woman grinned, clapping her hands again as she leaned forward in order to walk slowly towards the eleventh Doctor, who watched her with wary eyes but could do nothing about her approach since he was still strapped to the chair. "Well, can't fool you, can I? Clarence always manages to reveal me with his angelic demon-radar. Well done."

Dean felt the anger raising inside him and he pressed his teeth together to stop himself from yelling at the demon.  
"Well, _Meg_ , I'd say it's nice to meet you again but I really don't like you so what _the fuck_ are you doin' here?"

Meg chuckled, her head drawn back while her eyes remained on Dean.

"Well, dunno, Deano. I don't think there's a need to tell you - or your new buddies - my plans."

Dean pressed his lips together, trying to stay calm while he raised his gun to point it at Meg.

"What are you doing?" John hissed , his eyes wide as he looked at Dean, then at Meg, and back at Dean. "Why are you pointing a gun at her?"

"That's not Molly, John." Sherlock answered, his light eyes narrowing as he took in the scene.

"I know!" John hissed back, clearly angered. "But ..whatever it is, this demon-thing is inside Molly's body, using her, and maybe she is still inside there!"

Meg chuckled again, the grin spreading on her lips as she turned her body to face John. Dean noticed that she now stood in front of the Pandorica, almost in reach of Eleven, who was still unable to do much more than watch or talk.

"Uhhh, that's a smart one, I like you." Her grin froze. "Well, Deanoooo-" She swung her head to fix Dean with black eyes. "C'mon, pull the trigger, righteous man! But I don't think you'll manage to save her." She sighed dramatically. "Poor girl, she's brave though. A little fighter. I knew you would like it if I'd wear her." The cold grin returned. "I mean, it's always nice to see a familiar face, right?" At that her eyes turned to Sherlock and John.

"Meg, stop it, now." Castiel's voice was serious, though his body-posture remained everything else than intimidating.

The demon snickered as she tilted her head the same way Castiel used to. "Oh, I see, you're much more _awake_ now, aren't you? Hm, but I don't need you here, so why don't you let the adults talk for awhile?" There was a swift movement of her hand and suddenly Castiel's eyes rolled back and his body went limp. Luckily Sam stood next to him and was able to catch him before he could hit the stony ground.

"Cas!" Dean's eyes widened.

"What did you do to him?" He roared, the hand around the gun tightening as his eyes flickered to Castiel's unmoving body in Sam's arms and back to Meg.

The knot inside his stomach tightened and he felt sick. _Worried_ , he realized. He was worried. Damn it! Now was not the right time for being worried! This was Cas, a good damn angel, he would be okay..Hopefully...

"Oh, hush!" Meg rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, your boyfriend is alright." She paused, playing thoughtful. "Or, as well as he can be in his current state of mind."

Dean's anger boiled inside him and all he wanted to do was to shoot this damn bitch because if Cas was hurt, if he was in pain, then he would kill her, he would-

"Dean!" Sam urged, his voice low. "Calm down. It's alright, he's still breathing." Dean's heart was still hammering in his chest but he managed to even his breathing. _Right...focus on the task..._

Amusement flickered across Meg's, Molly's, face as she bared her teeth in a spiteful grin. "That's so lovely." She teased. Her voice, Dean realized, still held the always bored tone.

"I'll show you what's lovely." It wasn't Dean who uttered that sentence but the Master, who stood now next to Meg. How he had been able to approach her without her notice remained a mystery.

Meg snorted, her eyes narrowed in annoyance as she tossed the Master against the nearest wall with a simple flick of her wrist. "Don't interrupt me!" The demon hissed.

Hell broke loose after that.

The Doctor, Ten, was about to rush to the Master's side but was stopped by Meg, who threw him against the opposite wall. The Time Lord winced in pain, still conscious but much more careful now. The Master was on his feet again, hatred written all over his face; he wasn't all to pleased about being tossed around by a demon.

Sam was unable to help anyone since he still held the unconscious Cas in his arms and Dean tried to think of a way to stop Meg without hurting the vessel, _Molly_ , something that wasn't as easy as he wished it to be.

Sherlock had a grim face, his lips pressed together while he followed Meg's movements with his eyes. He,too, tried to find a solution without hurting Molly. You could almost see his brain working behind the furrowed brow. John was still upset, though he was less obvious now; the army doctor was about to get closer to the Pandorica and Meg, but Meg stopped him with one raised hand.

"I suggest you all stay where you are and drop your weapons if you want this guy here to stay as healthy and alive as he is now." The demon held the blade of her knife against Eleven's throat.

The future Doctor tried to smile, though nervousness was clearly visible on his face. "Uhm...I really don't know what's going on but-"

"Shut up, your voice is annoying me!" Meg reinforced the pressure of the blade, making Eleven flinch. "Now put the weapons to the ground!"

Dean clenched his jaw as he raised his left hand. "Okay...Keep cool. There." He put his gun on the ground. There was still the knife in his boot but he doubted that he would get close enough to be a real danger to her.

"Now you!" Meg turned her head to Ten, who leaned against the stony wall.

"This is not a weapon..." Ten began as he raised his sonic screwdriver but Meg shook her head and Eleven hissed as the blade was pressed against his skin. "Oh no pretty boy, I like to play safe."

Ten took a deep breath through his nose and nodded slowly. "Okay.." Dean asked himself what it must feel like to watch your future-self being held hostage by a demon. That surely was a weird situation, after all it was your own life that was in danger.

Ten slowly put the sonic screwdriver on the ground, his eyes never leaving Meg.

"We did what you want, Meg." Sam said, his voice steady while he watched the demon with wary eyes; he still held the angel in his arms, not wanting to put him on the hard ground.

"I see that." Meg grinned again, and it was such a wrong smile for Molly's face. Too demonic, to evil. It simply didn't fit her. Dean could remember Molly's shy smile and the way her eyes lit up as he payed attention to her, commenting on her hair and asking her about Sherlock. She was a kind person, shy and friendly, and her smile had been honest and warm. Meg's smile was cold, soulless, and it made Molly's face darker and harder, as if she was made of stone or plastic.

Dean tightened his jaw. They should have know not to trust Meg, not even after she had watched over Castiel for them. She must have had her own plans back then. Dean wondered what had happened to her other vessel. Had Meg left her in the mental hospital?

"Very kind of you. Now, if you wouldn't mind -" She grabbed Eleven by the collar of his shirt. "I need to get something."

"Something?" Sherlock asked, casually, his hands locked behind his back as he eyed the demon.

"Oh, I won't tell you what!" Meg spat. It was weird to hear Molly's voice while knowing that it wasn't her who actually spoke to them. Meg began to search for something inside the pockets of Eleven's tweed jacket until she closed her fist around something, smiling victoriously as she pulled her hand from the pocket. For mere seconds something gold glittered in the pale light, an amulet or some kind of jewelry, before Meg put it away inside her leather jacket. Her outfit had remained the same. "Okay guys, I think it's time for me to go now."

That was their chance! _C'mon Meg,turn your damn back to us while you walk towards the door..._

They could attack her from behind, surprise her. They were six grown man, she was one demon. Well, one smart demon...

He still had the knife...

But Meg was smart, of course she was, and that was why she freed Eleven from the bonds, jerking him upright and pulling him along with her, the blade still held against his throat. "One wrong move, boys, and I'll cut his pretty throat. You don't want that,right?"

Of course they didn't want that, but they had to stop her. They couldn't let her go, not with the piece of jewelry and neither with Molly's body.

Damn! Again someone had to suffer because of them...It was always the same..Poor Molly, this wasn't meant to happen to her...

 _I am sorry_ , Dean thought as he pressed his lips even tighter together, watching Meg walking towards the exit. Guilt gnawed at him and he really and truly felt sorry for Molly because being possessed was everything else than nice. She could see everything Meg did and she could do nothing about it..

"Let her go."

Meg stopped, raising her eyebrow. "I'm sorry, what?"

Dean narrowed his eyes. "The woman, Meg. Let her go. She doesn't deserve to be your bitch."

Meg stared at him, and for one split second there was surprise in her eyes, then she began to laugh. "Oh wow, Deany- boy! Do you care for her? That's so sweet!" The grin fell off her face and was replaced by a stern expression. "But I have to disappoint you, that's impossible. You see, it's not like there is another meat suit here for me right now,unless you want me to take one of your new friends there." She nodded towards Holmes and Watson.

Dean growled, frustration clearly visible in the lines of his body. Damn that bitch!

He still had the knife...

He wouldn't be fast enough, and in the end he would not only risk the Doctor's life but also possibly hurt Molly.

It was then that Eleven decided to act on his own.

He was pretty clever, head-butting Meg and making her stumble backwards. The blade cut him though, a thin cut across the right side of his throat, not deep but deep enough to cause blood spilling on his white shirt.

"You little fucker!" Meg hissed, pressing her hand against her bleeding nose, her mouth and chin red with her blood. She was, however, smart enough to run towards the exit before anyone could grab a weapon to stop her. Sherlock ran after her, his long legs easily carrying him, while John decided to follow Sherlock, shouting "Sherlock!" Before he,too, disappeard into the tunnel.

Well, fuck...

There was no trace of Meg, nothing. Sherlock and John had lost her and weren't able to find any hint. There was an awkward silence after they all met on the surface, neither of them saying much. It was colder now, cloudy.

Sherlock and John were still shocked about the fakt that Molly was Meg's new vessel. Well, okay, John was shocked but Sherlock was the coldhearted dick he always was. The worry in John's eyes was painfull to see and Dean couldn't watch him for long.

Both Doctors were quiet, something that was a suprise to everyone. Indeed it seemed that both were avoiding each other - instead of cheerfully talking to the other-self. There was a tension between those two that Dean couldn't place.

The Master, to Dean's surprise, stuck to Ten like a little kid to its mother. The blonde Time Lord was not very fond of Eleven. Dean had the feeling he didn't like the appearance of the future Doc.

"I assume we better go back to our flat." Sherlock announced as they walked towards the cars. "We have a lot to talk about." His eyes wandered from one Doctor to the other.

"Well, we better get going back to the hotel." Dean shrugged his head towards Castiel, who was still pretty much unconscious in Sam's arms; the angel looked like a rag doll while Sam carried him across the field, his face pale and his limbs limp. The sight made Dean uncomfortable, and again there was this feeling...This _worry_...

"No." Sherlock's voice was sharp and Sam almost flinched at the cold tone. "We don't have time for that! You can -" He rolled his wrist. "-put him on our sofa, or in John's bedroom." John furrowed his brow at that but kept quiet. Sherlock couldn't see his face anyway because John was walking right next to him and Sherlock was too busy with watching the surroundings, or whatever it was that he was watching...

Dean turned around abruptly to face the detective, his voice low as he hissed. "Watch it! We actually _care_ for our friends!" He wouldn't risk Cas' health for this stupid case! This could wait till tomorrow! Sam gave him a questioning glance but Dean ignored his brother.

Sherlock's expression was emotionless as he walked past Dean. "There is nothing to care about. He is unconscious, there is not much you can do for him except watching over him, something that you can do in our flat as well as anywhere else." His tone was sharp and factual, everything that Dean's angered voice wasn't.

Dean clenched his jaw and balled his hands into fists. Of course...

"Sorry." John whispered. "It's because of the case...He is always..." He trailed off, searching for the right word.

"A dick?" Dean tried and John smiled slightly, though it still looked tried. "Haha ...You could say that. Just..Don't take it too serious. He doesn't mean what he says."

"Oh.." Dean gave the blond man a wry smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I think we know he does."

John's shoulders hunched slightly and he nodded thoughtfully, then he shook his head. "As said, I am sorry for his behavior. He is not good with people, I fear."

Sam nodded understandingly, "It's okay." he assured.

John gave them another smile before he turned around to catch up with Sherlock.

Dean followed him with his eyes, his hands in the pockets of his jacket. His jaw was still clenched and the anger wasn't gone.

"Hey Dean, it's okey." Sam eyed his brother with watchful eyes. "The flat is closer anyway, and he is right..." Dean's eyes narrowed. "I mean-" Sam began, his voice low and soothing. "-we actually can't do much for him...He's out cold and ...Yeah." He pressed his lips together, lowering his eyes to look at Castiel. "We don't even know what she did. It's better to be around some people we can trust, you know, just to be sure."

Dean sighed in frustration, running his hand through his hair as he answered, "Yeah...Probably better that way."

They should have known that something would happen.

Nothing was ever easy.

_Damn Meg._


	11. My never-ending nightmare called life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends are there to help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, my my, this is long xD

* * *

_It was like falling. Falling into never ending darkness. They gripped him, grabbed his his arms and legs and wings, tearing at the feathers, tearing at his skin, their touch burning him.._

_It was like falling, just worse._

_They were many, they were strong, stronger than he was, and they burried him underneath their being until he was no more._

_He was suffocating, and he was afraid._

_Like water they seemed to drown him, swashing over him in never-ending waves of thick shadows._

_It did hurt, when they scratched at his very being, not afraid of his Grace and unaffected by his screams. They did not fear him, he feared them._

_A never ending nightmare._

_Yes, a nightmare._

_Just a nightmare._

_Because it was over, they were gone, out of his body- his body, not Jimmy's body anymore - but they were still there, outside, somewhere in America._

_It was his fault._

_It was his fault, and he was so very very sorry for the thirst for power that had consumed him then, the wish to finally defeat Raphael, but he had tried; he had tried to do something good by making the wrong decision._

_He had wanted to settle things right._

_It had been the only way back then, the only way in his eyes, and all he had wanted was...freedom and peace and...nothing like this, nothing like the chaos he had caused._

_It still did hurt, the memory, the endless livid dream of torture and darkness and fear..._

_He was alone, so alone under all those souls, and all he wanted to do was to curl up into a ball to protect what little light he had left inside himself. It was so small and dim, this light, and he wasn't even sure what it was just that he had to protect it, because if it was gone then so was he._

_He was screaming, loud, as loud as he could, but who would hear him?_

_Lucifer could hear him, Lucifer, the bright light at the end of the darkness, high above him in the non-existent sky._

_He couldn't reach him. He had tried, in his despair, he tried, but they stopped him, breaking his arm and his fingers as he outstreched his arm in a silent scream for help._

_And then there was Dean, not the real Dean of course, but the Dean that he had met in Hell, the soulless demon with black eyes and no pity, the one that had to be saved. He was looking down at Castiel, smirking._

_There was just darkness in his eyes, nothing left of the light inside._

_And Castiel had also tried to reach for him, it had been his first try to reach for anyone because this was Dean, had to be Dean, but it wasn't, and it broke the angel's heart._

_Dean should have never been in the pit in the first place. They should have been quicker, should have been able to save him before he had to endure so much, but they hadn't managed, HE hadn't managed, and that was why Dean would always remember the pit.._

_This was a never ending nightmare and he couldn't get out of it._

_The darkness was gripping him, tearing his inside apart, and he screamed and screamed until he was hoarse._

_"Do you want me to help you?" Lucifer asked, high above with his shining pair of six wings._

_"You'll never get out of here Cas, never, this is your own Hell." Dean said in return, his voice cold as he watched Castiel being ripped apart by all the souls. He didn't move one bit. "You don't deserve to be saved."_

"Castiel."

_It was too dark, too dark he couldn't see-_

"Castiel."

_\- anything because the souls were weaving a web of darkness around his mind and he struggled and tried to fight-_

"Calm down, it's alright!"

_\- and it did hurt, it was so cold, and he yes,yes, if Lucifer could help him, if anyone could help him to get out of here-_

"I am here, it's alright!"

_-then he would reach out and-_

Scream.

**Chapter 10**

"I don't know who he was. He said it was important, very important, and he gave me the necklace, the amulet, he gave it to me and said; don't ever lose it do you hear? This is important, this could change the history and settle the future, and that is why I will seal it away, together with you to watch over it until the times is right, because the others will search for it, and it's not the right time yet."

"I can't say why he didn't allow me to use the TARDIS, he didn't argue with me, just put his fingers against my forehead and zapped me from London to the Pandorica. I couldn't say much, hadn't had time to ask any questions, and it seemed that he had no time either. He said; be careful, it'll open when the time is right."

There was a pause, a long pause where the Doctor nervously pulled at the corner of the pillow, which was in his lap, while his lips were pressed into a thin line.

"I wasn't able to protect it..." He murmured, his left hand absently reaching for the bandage around his neck. The angel could have healed it, John assumed, but the angel wasn't yet awake, and that was something that made Dean Winchester nervous. The older brother sat on the armrest of the couch next to his brother, a bottle of beer in his hand while he stared at it as if it was the most important thing in the universe; he wasn't even listening to what Eleven said, or at least he only listened half-heartedly, a tense expression on his face while he stared at the piece of glass in his hand.

The Doctor sighed, an expression of regret on his face; he was clearly disappointed by himself and his failure of protecting the important artefact, blaming himself for what had happened a few hours ago.

"Did he say who would come for it?" Sam asked, leaning forward to look at the eleventh Doctor, who continued to pull at the pillow, not looking at anyone of them. "And why it had to be sealed away?"

"He said the angels would come for it...And the demons, too. That's why he had to lock it away in the Pandorica, so it would be invisible for them in any timeline, so they would be unable to detected it. They would find me in the future, he said, and in my TARDIS. That's why it had to be locked away." The Doctor paused, his brow furrowed as he pulled another pillow into his lap.

Sam nodded slowly. "Inside the Pandorica it was completly off their radar..."

Sherlock, who had his hands folded together in front of his chin, watched Eleven with watchful eyes. "That does not explain why the Pandorica opened as the Doctor, Ten, touched it."

Ten, who stood together with the Master next to the fire place, sighed loudly. "It's because we have a connection. Weeelll...Because we are the same person...I think he, whoever he was who sealed the Pandorica, put a special spell or sign in the lock so it would only open when I touch it from outside."

"I would rather like to know what it IS inside the amulet." The Master uttered, his arms crossed in front of his chest. The shadows under his eyes appeared even darker because of the dim light of the living room.

Eleven shifted uncomfortably from side to side. "I don't know what it is, I already told you." He answered, avoiding to look at the Master or his former self.

"And he didn't tell you who he was?" John asked calmly, his cup of tea in his hand. John was surprised by himself because he managed to be totally calm even under the current circumstances. Maybe it was the military training or the fact that surprises were everyday life if you were living in the same flat as Sherlock Holmes. "No name, no nothing?"

Eleven furrowed his brow even further. "No..Oh but...I...I think he said his name was Gabriel, but I am not sure."

The Winchesters hissed, and all heads turned to them.

"Good old Gabby, always one a step ahead of everyone." Dean smiled grimly as he sipped at his beer.

"So, you do know him?" John asked hopefully. Maybe they could ask him for help? If he found the artefact in the first place maybe he could find it again?

Sam laughed sadly. "Yeah, we knew him. Gabriel, the archangel. He died roughly two years ago, killed by his own brother Lucifer..." He trailed off and John was sure Sam had wanted to add something but had decided against it.

"Gabriel...and Lucifer..." Sherlock repeated thoughtfully.

John felt a little bit dizzy because hearing that Lucifer was very much real wasn't great at all.

Oh well, and about one day ago he hadn't believed in angels and demons..And now archangels.

_This keeps getting more and more weird..._

"I need to think." Sherlock straightened up. "Please leave the living room."

John rubbed his face with his free hand and Dean snorted but said no word. "But where should we go, Sherlock? The flat isn't that big."

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he stood up. He smoothed down his purple shirt and answered; "Then I will go to your room now." He turned towards John. "Since mine is occupied." And with that he walked out of the living room, leaving the others in an awkward silence.

Eleven sat on the sofa, hunched forward and looking miserable; the whole thing seemed to be eating at him. The Time Lord continued to play with the ends of the cushions while he avoided looking at anyone. To John he almost looked like a lost child.

Sam and Dean were talking in hushed voices, Dean leaning towards his brother, his brow furrowed and his mouth grim. After a while he nodded slightly, still looking worried and grim as he stood up. He walked past John and up the stairs without saying a word.

"He's looking for Cas." Sam explained, but no one needed the explanation because it was obvious; the older Winchester had been tense and worried all the time since the angel was unconscious, a sign that Castiel meant a lot to the hunter, and his thoughts had been upstairs by the angel during their talk, waiting for the right opportunity to leave the living room to go and check on his friend.

"Is anyone hungry?" John tried, smiling. He was trying to lighten the mood. "I could take a look in the fridge, maybe we have something eatable to offer."

No one seemed all too enthusiastic but Sam smiled a friendly smile. "That's a good idea."

Eleven jumped up, causing the pillows in his lap to fall to the floor. "I'll help you!" He grinned, happy to have a reason to be in another room than Ten and the Master. It had to be difficult to deal with the own past in the form of two living souls, especially if one of them was you. It seemed that Eleven didn't want to cause any chaos which was why he was avoiding his former self and everything that could dramatically change his past.

"Good. Great." John smiled and waved towards the kitchen. "Let's go." The future Time Lord smiled happily as he followed John into the small kitchen.

The light here was dim as well, John had to change the light bulb but there hadn't been time to do so, and the dark walls didn't help to lighten up the room.

The kitchen table was full of Sherlock's experiments, glass vials and small bottles and there were dirty dishes in the sink, dishes that John hadn't been able to wash before they had to leave.

"Are those toes?" The Doctor, who literally had his head in the fridge, raised his arm over the door of the fridge without looking at John, a pack with human toes in his hand.

"Oh god yes, I am sorry!" John burried his face in the palm of his left hand, placing his cup of tea on a free spot on the kitchen counter. He had forgotten about Sherlock's latest experiment, which seemed to involve toes.

"That's interesting. " The Doctor said, sounding everything else than disgusted. "I never had the chance to take a closer look at human toes...Hm, but why would I want to do that? I don't know, hm..." He continued to look at the content of the fridge, the pack of toes now back in said fridge.

"Is there anything in the fridge that doesn't belong to a human being?" John asked, his eyes on what he could see of the Doctor behind the door of the fridge.

"Eh, well, you have milk. A lot of milk. " His head popped up behind the door of the fridge. "Why does anyone need that much milk?" He furrowed his brow and disappeared behind the door again. "And...And something that looks like cheese. However, I am not sure if it is cheese."

John sighed in frustration. They usually ordered food or ate something on their way back home. John was sure that if he wouldn't go shopping there would be no food in the fridge at all.

"I fear there is nothing we could use for a proper meal." The Doctor straightened up and closed the door of the fridge. "Except you like jam with noodles..." He shrugged his shoulders.

"Oh,well.."John sighed. "We could make some jam sandwiches."

The Doctor grinned.

Somehow John was able to find two clean knives and bread that hadn't been used for an experiment. They both stood at the counter making strawberry jam sandwiches while they could hear the hushed voices of the others from the living room.

Eleven had his brow furrowed, listlessly spreading jam on the slices of bread that lay on the plate in front of him. John watched the Time Lord from the corner of his eyes and noticed the way he pressed his lips into a tense line. "Are you alright?" He asked carefully, not wanting to pressurise the other man.

The Doctor blinked, looking up from the plate to meet John's gaze, nodding slowly. "Yes..." He said, slowly. "Yes, I...I am fine, I'm good..." He trailed off, his eyes back on the bread.

John's eyes were still on Eleven as the Time Lord continued to spread jam on the bread. "You don't look 'fine' to me." John said, his voice low and sympathetic.

The Doctor smiled sadly, still not looking at John. "I am fine enough." He replied, sounding as sad as he looked like.

John sighed deeply before he turned back to his bread. "I can imagine that this is...difficult for you." He began. Eleven laughed but it was only half-hearted."Well, even I can't say that I've met my past-self and my dead best friend in the future. Or, kind of future...Whatever." He waved off, using the hand that held the knife to do so- "What year is it anyway?"

"2012.." John answered and after a while of silence he asked. "He is dead, the Master? Did he die in your timeline?"

Eleven nodded slowly. "Yeah he..kind of died because of me."His face darkened and he took another piece of bread to spread jam on it. "A lot of people died because of me...and I've created a lot of chaos and...other things.."He stopped, swallowing hard."And..haha... now I lost the amulet..."He smiled slightly, lost in melancholy and self-reproaches.

John placed the knife on the counter, turning his body around to face the other man while he placed his hands on his hips."Stop blaming yourself for losing the amulet." He said with a soft voice that held no anger or reproach. "It wasn't your fault."

"Yes it was. I was supposed to watch over it and-"

"And you did." John interrupted him. "You have been held hostage by a demon! You can call yourself lucky that you are still alive."

The Doctor laughed softly as he shook his head; he chose to say nothing and continued to spread jam on the bread.

John turned around to the counter, taking the knife to make a new sandwich. They stayed silent for a while, the hushed voices from the living room the only sound.

John could clearly remember that day he had met the Doctor for the first time.

John had been ten, and on his way back from school. Some idiots thought it would be fun to push him around on the streets and of course he had been too young to be able to defend himself against three thirteen-year-old boys. They had made fun of him, because he was so small, and he had tried to get out of the situation without being hit by a fist because of his height.

Now, after several years, he was sure they would have pushed him on the street in front of a driving car just to see if he was small enough to survive by lying down on the street so he would fit under the car without being hit by its bottom or the wheels.

However, it never came to that event; suddenly, right befor they were able to push him onto the street, a blue telephone box appeared right in front of them, out of the blue.

They all had been pretty startled but then a man, Eleven, came out of the phonebox, looking confused. "Oh well, I think that went wrong."

The older boys had gaped at him, their eyes wide and shocked, then they had turned around running away from the stranger and his blue box. John, though, had stayed. He could remember that his heart had hammered in his chest as if he had been running miles.

The Doctor had furrowed his brow, surprised by the reaction of the older boys. Finally his attention had fallen on John. "Are you alright?" He had asked, his voice soft and slightly worried.

John had gasped, nodding. "Yeah..Yeah, I am...I am fine. Just surprised..." He had rubbed the back of his hand over his sweaty forehead. "You saved me..I..Thank you." Of course the Doctor hadn't saved him on purpose but still...John had been utterly thankful.

"Oh,sure, sure." The Doctor had grinned. "You seem kind of lost. Do you know how to get home?" Of course John had known how to come home and so he had simply shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah..." But the thought of the others waiting for him around the corner of the street had made him nervous. The Doctor had noticed that and so he had smiled while he said. "I would love to see the city. Can I join you on your way home?"

Of course John had agreed.

"I am John." He had said, his hand outstreched."John Hamish Watson."

The weird man had grinned from ear to ear as he took John's hand. "And I am the Doctor. Just the Doctor. It's a pleasure to meet you."

John hadn't asked him from where he was, or how he had managed to appear out of nowhere together with his blue telephone box. He remembered the nice talk and the laughter of the Doctor, and he remembered the promise of the Doctor to come back for John. "I'll show you the stars." He had said. "Because that I can do. We could fly through the universe, you and I. What do you think?" And John had laughed,he had laughed and nodded. "Yeah that would be great!"

The Doctor had promised to come back the next day. John had waited patiently on the stairs in front of the door to their house. The Doctor hadn't come. John still wondered why but he didn't dare to ask. The Doctor had enough problems right now.

"You seem to be uncomfortable around your past-self."John said out of the blue. He felt like talking to the other man because he seemed to carry a lot on his shoulders and John wanted to make sure that staying around became a bit more comfortable for him.

"Yes I...Don't want to accidently change the past - my past..." Eleven answered as he reached for the jar of jam. "Though it seems that something has changed it already..."He frowned and began to spread more jam on the bread; there was already enough jam on the bread but John decided to say nothing about that.

"You can't tell what it was, though?" John wanted to know."Or what it is?"

Eleven shook his head regretfully."No."

"And..."John tried. "...You can't tell what will happen? To you?" Maybe they could get a lead? Maybe Eleven already knew what would happen?

Eleven sighed and shook his head again."The past, my past, that has not happened yet is like a fog inside my head. It is a bit difficult to explain, a lot of time travelling stuff is involved and then there is the fact that I shouldn't even _be_ here... I can't see where it will lead because there are too many new possibilities. And I don't know what could have possibly changed my past. The only thing I know is that it is the reason why the Master is still alive and my past-me still itself. By what I can tell I should have regenerated already." He frowned. "I was sure it was a fixed point in time..."

John raied his eyebrows. "What does that mean?"

Eleven shrugged his shoulders. "A fixed point in time is an event that has to happen, otherwise the future will change dramatically. For example, the sinking of the Titanic. I could go back - and save thousends of lifes, but if I would do that it would create hundres of new lifes and new timelines and almost no one would even know what the Titanic is because it never sank and therefor never got any big attention." He raised his hand and rolled his eyes. "And Fate wouldn't be pleased."

 _Fate?_ John wondered. Well,if Time Lord, angels and Lucifer were real...

"Okay, I think I got it." He nodded. It made sense. Time travelling was always dangerous..."So, you think it was a fixed point that has been changed?"

"Well, it would explain things but... I am not sure." Eleven pursed his lips as he tried to find an answer for their current situation. They were quiet after that again, busy with making sandwiches that no one would eat.

The voices from the living room had grown louder, laughter could be heard. It seemed that the tension had eased.

"I wonder where my TARDIS is." Eleven mumbled, lost in his thoughts. "I really miss her."

...

The light in the room was dim. Actually, there was no light except for the small lamp on the bedside table. The room wasn't big, the walls were painted in dark red and the floor was made of solid dark wood. There was a dresser, a small one in dark brown, and a standard lamp in the right corner next to the half open window with the dark green curtains. Dean noticed the pictures at the wall showing idyllic landscapes and the periodic system at the wall behind the door. The room was oddly cold...There were no family photos at the walls and nothing else personal or family related could be spotted in the room. Everything was oddly tidy.

They had decided to put Castiel into Sherlock's room because it was upstairs and therefore quieter than John's room downstairs which was near the living room.

Dean took a deep breath as he took the chair that stood in front of the desk and placed it next to the double bed. He cleared his throat and sat down on the chair, his eyes on Castiel's unmoving body.

They had stripped off his trench coat and taken off his shoes, and without his coat and black suit jacket Castiel looked smaller than usually, more fucking fragile and.. younger, less serious, but maybe that was because of the dim light...

The damn trench coat had always been too big for him but he refused to wear something else. Maybe it was for Jimmy, but Dean wasn't sure.

Cas hadn't moved. Not one bit. His face was still, pale, the shadows under his eyes even darker in the dim light and his hair was unruly, but he seemed to be okay. No fever, no troubled breathing, nothing. He was just unconscious, probably trapped inside his own head...with Lucifer. Dean swallowed and took another sip from his beer.

_Well, fuck that son of a bitch._

He just hoped that it wasn't too bad, that Cas was _okay_...

"I hope you're alright man..." He mumbled, his eyes on Castiel's pale face. "Because I dunno what to do if you aren't..."He paused and laughed huskily. "Yeah well, you're an angel you know, and we have no angel doc around...so...better be alright, Cas." He tried to be funny but of course he wasn't. He wasn't even sure if Cas was able to hear him. Probably not.

He was still tense but calmer than down in the living room. He had been thinking of Castiel, couldn't stop himself from doing so, and there had been this urge to be...simply near the angel, to make sure that he was still there, alive, that he was alright - or as alright as he could be in his current state of mind. He had lost Cas more than once, he didn't want to lose him again. The fear to lose him again was always there, in the back of Dean's head, always gnawing at him, and things like this, seeing Cas lying unmoving on the bed. It made it even worse.

Dean didn't even know where this feeling came from, this always present fear to lose Castiel. He just knew it had always been there, in the back of his head, and now it became worse and worse because bad things kept happening ...He just wished they didn't.

"I really don't wanna lose you again, you know..." He mumbled and his voice cracked at the end. He wasn't even sure why he was talking if Cas couldn't hear him anyway, but it made him feel better. However, he would never say, admit, something like this if Cas was awake.

He had no idea how long he sat there, looking at the pale and still form of his friend, but at some point his beer was empty. Dean sighed and placed the empty bottle on the nightstand next to the small lamp.

It was then that he noticed a slight movement out of the corner of his eyes; it was Cas, throwing his head from side to side as if to shake his head. His brow was furrowed and his lips were pale and pressed into a thin line.

"Castiel?" Dean asked, carefully leaning towards the bed and the angel. "Hey, Cas, are you alright?"

Castiel didn't respond, he only shook his head. He seemed tense and his breathing began to speed up.

"Hey, hey, whoa!" Dean reached out for the angel to calm him down but his breathing became even more labored as soon as Dean reached for Castiel's arm.

"Castiel." Dean tried again.

Castiel winced, his hands clawing the bedsheet in an almost frantic way.

"Castiel, hey." Dean reached out for him again but this time Castiel backed away from him, his body twisting on the bed while a soft groan escaped his lips.

Was this a nightmare? It had to be. Or a panic attack? Some kind of memory?

"Calm down, it's alright!" Dean's voice was firm as he grabbed the arms of the other man to hold him on the bed because Castiel had started to lash out, first at the air and now at Dean who tried to hold him down so he wouldn't hurt himself or anyone else - in this case Dean.

Castiel groaned again, this time louder, and it sounded pained and desperate, almost like a whine.

"I am here." Dean whispered, his voice strong but low. "It's alright!" His right hand let go of Castiel's arm and he reached for his face, carefully, his heart beating wildly in his chest as he laid his hand on the side of Castiel's face.

Blue eyes snapped open and suddenly Castiel sat up, screaming.

Dean stumbled away, surprised by the sudden outbreak. "Whoa whoa, it's alright, it's me Cas, me, Dean, alright? You're here, it's okay!"

Cas eyes were wide and unseeing, but slowly they began to focus on Dean, on his face, and realisation dawned in the bright blue eyes. "Oh..." Castiel said, his voice rough as if he had been screaming for hours.

Steps could be heard, someone was running up the stairs, and then Sam stood in the doorway, his hair ruffled and his eyes wide. "Everything alright?" He asked, out of breath because he had been running up the stairs.

"Yeah...Yeah, everything's super..."Dean said, breathing out deeply as ran his hand through his hair.

Sam eyed his brother before his gaze went to Castiel, who sat upright in the bed with the blanket in his lap, his face white and his hands shaking. "Sure?" He asked doubtfully.

Castiel nodded slowly, his lips a tight line. "I am fine, Sam. It was just a...nightmare." He trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

That had been a hell of a real nightmare! Dean could imagine what it must have been like...He still had nightmares about Hell and they felt so real that he sometimes feared he was still down there. But he wasn't.

Cas leaned forward and rubbed his forehead, his eyes tightly squeezed together.

"You're okay?" Dean asked and couldn't help but sound slightly worried.

Cas nodded slowly. "Yes ..." He answered, his voice still rough and he cleared his throat. "Yes, I just have a headache...I think I would like some pills and fresh air..."

Dean nodded hastily. "Yeah, sure!Let's go grab the pills. We can sit down somewhere outside, alright?"

Sam opened his mouth as if to say something but closed it again, then he shrugged his shoulders. "Okay, I'll tell the others that... you'll be outside." He went down the stairs and left them alone.

Castiel didn't meet Dean's eyes.

It wasn't cold outside but it would rain soon. It was chilly, a bit cloudy, the dark sky full of stars.

Dean and Castiel made their way towards the Impala. Dean's baby was parked nearby and so they only had to grab the pills and could head back to sit on the stairs in front of the door to 221b Baker Street. Cas swallowed three of them down, dry, and Dean winced in sympathy as Castiel made a grimace.

They sat there for a while, just watching the street and the cars. It was late, so there were just a few people walking past them.

"What was it about?" Dean asked, casually, his eyes on the road. "The dream."

Castiel sighed, his knees hugged to his chest as he watched a car driving around the corner of the street. "Leviathan."

Dean felt a shudder running down his spine. Yeah,right...That horrible time when those things had possessed Castiel...

Dean had thought about him a lot, about Castiel, and how it must feel to have so many souls inside your body, and then those Leviathans...

He could clearly remember how fucked up Castiel had looked like as he came back to them to ask for help, his clothes full of blood and his blue eyes full of regret. He could remember that moment when Bobby and he had thought Cas was dead, the disbelief that had overwhelmed him as he realized that Cas wouldn't come back this time. And he could remember that grin that hadn't been Castiel's, that wicked grin that hadn't reached those blue eyes because those eyes were dead.

_"Uhm Uh, You know, Castiel, he's gooone."_

Angels didn't sleep, and therefore they had no nightmares. But Castiel was not like the other angels...

"Was it bad?" The hunter didn't say if he meant the dream or the time when the creatures had taken over the angel's body and mind.

Castiel stared ahead, his head thoughtfully tilted to one side."Yes." Was his simple answer. Dean had the feeling that Cas didn't like thinking back to that time and he couldn't blame him. "It was dark, they were dark, and they did not let go. They clawed at my very being and even my grace could not shake them off. I felt...lost and hopeless..."The angel trailed off, his voice sounding as if he was far away with his thoughts.

 _'It was just a dream'_ would have been the wrong thing to say, because Dean knew that it hadn't been _just_ a dream.

"But, at least you're alive again,right?" Dean tried to joke but Castiel's face stayed serious. "You're here, with us, and you are _you_ again...That's ..That's good, right?"

Maybe he should have said something like; ' _you don't need to feel hopeless anymore, Cas',_ or, ' _I know that feeling but believe me, it will get better'_ , but that would have been lies. It wouldn't get better. It only got worse.

"I am tainted..."The angel mumbled, his chin propped on his arms. "I should not be alive..."

Dean's head jerked around. "Don't you dare say that!" He snapped because _no_!

 _Cas..._ Okay, Cas had been an idiot and Dean still hated him for destroying Sam's wall and all that shit, but ...but Dean knew how it felt _without_ Cas, he knew how _empty_ it felt because he had assumed Cas dead once, and no, no Dean didn't want him to be dead ever again! No matter how stupid Castiel could be sometimes and no matter how many fucking mistakes he had made, Dean would never want him dead. The thought alone made him sick.

"I killed my own brothers, Dean. I am a monster and I don't deserve to live, I didn't deserve to be brought back, not this time. I .."He broke off, his face a mask of pain and regret. "I killed Balthazar." He pressed his lips together, his head turned away from Dean because he was afraid of Dean's reaction. "My best friend." He whispered and his voice was filled with pain and self-loathing and Dean didn't know what to do, what to say, because he had never seen Cas like this. "I killed him because I was too hungry for power, because I was blinded by my desire to kill Raphael...I..." He broke off again, his voice small and husky. Dean noticed that he had tears in his bright blue eyes, but he didn't cry. Castiel, former warrior of god, never cried and would never cry.

"Well, that explains why Balthazar never called back..."Dean mumbled and Castiel gave him a hurt glance. Okay, humor was apparently NOT good in this situation, not when Castiel was on the verge of tears.

"Listen Cas..."Dean took a deep breath through his nose to calm himself. The news of Balthazar's death were a little bit shocking. He had liked Balthazar, that smart son of a bitch, and he was dead now because he had helped them...

No, wrong, because Cas had been a dick and had killed him, but still.. Dean couldn't get over the fact that if they hadn't asked the angel to help them Balthazar would still be very much alive.

"We all, you hear me, we all made mistakes, really fucked up mistakes, and yes, you're a dick for killing Balthazar! But, that wasn't you, that-"

Castiel shook his head, laughing weakly as he looked at his shoes. "No, Dean. You are doing it again."

Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise. "What?"

Castiel raised his gaze to look at Dean. "Defending me when I do not deserve it."

Dean stared at Castiel, his brow furrowed and his mouth slightly opened because he had intended to say something but now he didn't know what to say anymore.

Castiel gave him one of his intense glances, then he turned his head around again to look at the street.

"Thank you, Dean." He said, carefully, a small but sad smile on his lips. "For trying to wash away my sins, but...but this is not something we can simply forget..."He his gaze wandered up to the sky and he swallowed hard. "I am so very sorry for what I have done, and I know-" He cleared his throat."- I know that I can never make amends for it, I know that you cannot forgive me, but..."He sighed. "I hope that it will be...okay...again, someday. That you can trust me again, that-"

He stopped as he felt Dean's hand on the back of his own hand. "You stupid idiot." Dean chuckled huskily as he leaned towards Castiel.

"You think you're the only one who is fucked up and broken?" He asked, his voice firm but not angry. "Hell, we _all_ are everything else than one piece but, hey, we can fix it again, right?" He searched for Castiel's eyes, but Castiel didn't look at him, through his head was slightly turned towards Dean. "We just need time, and so do you. So stop sayin' you are beyond forgiveness and new hope because you aren't. And I'll help you, you hear me?" He increased the pressure of his hand on Castiel's until the angel finally turned his head to meet Dean's steady gaze.

"This time-" The hunter said with an encouraging grin "-we'll go through this together."

There was the sound of raindrops hitting the ground and if Dean would have turned his head he would have seen the small raindrops that could be seen in the dim yellowish light of the streetlights, but Dean didn't turn his head, no, Dean stared right into Castiel's too blue eyes. Even now, in the darkness of the night, they seemed to glow. Castiel's invisible wings, Dean realized, saved them from the rain. Once again Dean wished he could see those damn wings. Even the shadows of them were amazing..

"I..."Cas began and his voice was thick with emotion as he struggled for words. "You are something else Dean,I-"

"No." Dean interrupted him with his firm voice. "No, it's no difference."

"I am the righteous man who has killed thousends of souls because he was too weak to hold on, Sam is the ex-demon blood junky who technically let Lucifer out of his cage, and you are the idiot of an angel who has thought it would be a good idea to open the purgatory and swallow thousends of souls puls some assholes called Leviathans. We've all made grave mistakes." He shook his head. "So don't tell me that there's a difference."

Castiel simple stared. He stared into Dean's eyes as if he wanted to look at the very being of the hunter's soul, his tongue licking over his dry lips while he was thinking about his next words, and it was now that Dean realized that they were really close together, that he was still touching Cas' hand, and if anyone of them would lean a bit further then...

And what was this weird feeling in his belly?

"You really are special, Dean." Castiel mumbled, and Dean couldn't help looking down at the angel's lips.

"Yeah,well..." He said, his voice hoarse. "I am the righteous man, remember?" It wasn't that chilly anymore, Dean felt rather hot...

Castiel smiled slightly. "That was not what I mean, Dean."

"Then what did you mean?" Dean wanted to know, and he was sure he felt his body leaning forward on its own will and Castiel was looking at him and he was moving,too, and suddenly-

Suddenly the door behind them opened and they both almost jumped away from each other.

Dean hastily removed his hand from Castiel's and they both turned around to face the person that stood in the doorway.

"Oh, it's you." Dean mumbled and almost rolled his eyes. The moment between him and Cas, and whatever it was that he had felt, was gone now.

Sherlock stood in front of them, the collar of his coat turned upwards and his gaze as arrogant as ever.

"Yes, me." The detective answered, almost annoyed. "And what are you two doing here?Finally admitting your feelings for each other, I hope."

Dean pressed his teeth together as he smiled forcefully. Sherlock's voice had been without any humor and had also held no scorn. "No." He snorted. "We were kinda busy dealing with our lifes until you came."

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he strode past them. "Well, then continue."

Dean was about to answer that with a witty comment but Castiel was quicker. "Where are you going?" He asked, politely as he was.

Sherlock turned around on his heels, slightly surprised. "Me? Oh, I want to buy some milk." He smiled cooly. "Now, if you wouldn't mind, I need to go."

The detective turned around, his long coat floating behind him as he walked down the street. Dean and Castiel watched him until he turned around the corner.

"Seriously?"Dean raised one eyebrow. "Milk?"

Castiel shrugged his shoulders and stood up. "I think we should go back into the house." The angel had his brow furrowed as he looked up at the sky. "A storm is coming."

Dean nodded and stood up as well. The rain had gotten stronger and it was windy.

"Yeah." He said, raising his hand to shield his eyes from the rain, his gaze directed at the cloudy sky. "Guess you're right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oke, so,I was so free to doodle some pics for the fic, I hope that didn't scare you off xD  
> Anyway, of course you all are free to draw pics for the fic :)


	12. And then there was doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is always a time when you begin to doubt things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! This took me ridiculously long to write! I am truly sorry!

**Chapter 11**

John's room was smaller than Sherlock's and was painted in the color of dark green. The curtains at the windows were beige and the dark wooden floor had a small red carpet on it.

There were photos on the top of the dresser and at the walls, photos from John's family and old friends, and a nice green plant embellished the scraped wood of the window sill. The light from the lamp above was too bright to be comfortable, and that was why John used to light the room with the small lamp on his desk.

His bed was smaller than Sherlock's, just a single bed with blue sheets and two blankets, and the old armchair in the corner next to the window was full with jumpers and different clothes that John hadn't yet been able to wash.

The room in the air was cold because the window was open but Sherlock didn't mind that; the detective sat on the bed, his hands folded in his lap as he tried to think a step ahead of Moriarty.

The most important question right now was; what did the criminal mastermind intend to do with the amulet?

The demon, Meg, was working for Moriarty, Sherlock was sure of that, because otherwise Moriarty would have been there - or he would have sent one of his men together with a nice message. There was no way that Moriarty would have missed something big like the opening of the box, not when it was what he had been _waiting_ for.

That would also explain why the demon had taken Molly as vessel; Moriarty knew Molly, had been her boyfriend once, and he must have _known_ that Sherlock and John would feel guilty for her being possessed by a demon, something that would stop them from attacking and stopping the demon. They wouldn't have done that, _hesitating_ , if it had been Moriarty or one of his men who held Eleven hostage.

_A smart move..._

But why did Moriarty _want_ the amulet, what _for_? What was it inside the amulet that Moriarty could want? A power source? The _actual_ evil that had been locked away?

And then there was the question what Gabriel had intendet to do with the amulet and why he had locked it away in the Pandorica together with the Doctor. Why the Doctor, of all beings? Why not another angel, or a human?

Was it because the Doctor was a Time Lord, because time was different to him than to others?

Well, asking the archangel himself was out of question since the Winchesters had announced that he was already dead, killed by his own brother.

_And I have thought Mycroft and me have a difficult relationship..._

Whatever it was inside the amulet, it had to be something supernatural. Moriarty himself was no human, Sherlock knew that now, so there had to be a reason why Moriarty had stolen the amulet.

Sherlock's brow furrowed. Or, was it a simple act of curiosity? Something to confuse Sherlock, to lead him on the wrong track?

_No._

No, Moriarty had known about the Pandorica, he had planned everything; he was no man of coincidences, that was not like Moriarty...

It was a game, for Moriarty, and a game had to be planned. A Game had rules, but Sherlock did not know what rules Moriarty's game had; he had no clue _how_ Moriarty played, _what_ his next move would be, and _why_ he did that move...

Sherlock leaned back against the headboard of the bed. So, how long had Moriarty planned to open the Pandorica?

The detective sighed in frustration. _Too many questions, too little hints._

The bodies with the burned hearts were out of the game; they had been a call for attention, a reminder that Moriarty was still _there_ , a note that said: here I am, back again. They had nothing to do with the cause, that much was for sure.

However, the fact that Moriarty was no human made everything a bit more complicated.

What exactly was he capable to do? How _dangerous_ was he _really_?

Sherlock pressed his lips together as he crossed his legs. Loose ends everywhere, but nothing to tie them together...

The muffled sound of his phone startled him out of his thoughts.

The phone was in the left pocket of his trousers and he had almost forgotten that he had put it there because he had been too busy arguing with John about something that had been totally unimportant.

The detective pulled out his phone and looked down at the screen.

A text massage, no name or number visible.

He immediately knew who had sent him the message.

Sherlock opened the note and his eyes flew over the short mail.

_Hello Sherly,_

_I think I have something you might want._

_Do you have time for a talk?_

There was an adress. Sherlock recognized it and knew it would lead him to the old abandoned warehouse outside London that once had been used to store cds and other media products.

_Ps: See you in one hour, alone._

His mind and intellect screamed at him, _don't go, it is a trap_ , but Sherlock knew he had to go.

This was a part of Moriarty's game; Sherlock had to follow the lead because that was what Moriarty wanted, what he expected Sherlock to do. It was an unspoken rule.

No questions, just do as you are told.

_Obey._

Moriarty loved to order people about.

He loved to order _Sherlock_ about.

It was a power play, a way to show Sherlock that he could control each and everybody with his games - if he wanted to.

Sherlock had no problem with visiting the criminal mastermind alone in an old warehouse, it had always been a thing between them and them alone, and it was probably better that way - for everyone.

However, the fact that Sherlock had no clue what would happen, what Moriarty would want and most important _what_ Moriarty _was_...Well, that made things dangerous.

Sherlock had no gun. John owned one, though, but Sherlock heavily doubted that a normal gun would do any good against Moriarty.

All he had was his mind, and his mind was about to fail him because there were too many things that Sherlock could not see.

He would take a risk, if he would go now.

Sherlock did fear for his life, of course he did, but not like others would.

He wouldn't cry, or beg for his life.

He would not show sentiment, he wouldn't give Moriarty the satisfaction to see him desperate. Calm and collected, that was how he had to act.

The pool scene had been a great example of how unpredictable Moriarty was. Sherlock had been in a checkmate and Moriarty would have won if there hadn't been the phone call...

Moriarty was in control.

One wrong word, one wrong action and Sherlock would lose the game.

He had to be careful. More than careful. Moriarty was not only no human, he was also mad.

This was well planned, all of it, and every step Sherlock took towards Moriarty brought him closer to the end of the game...

Every game had an end, and Sherlock had the feeling he knew how this game would end.

The detective hissed in frustration as he stared down at the bright screen.

Of course he could tell them.

He could go to the others and tell them that he would leave, that they should follow him, that they should call Lestrade, that they should help him.

But he wouldn't.

Because this wasn't their game, they weren't part of it, not really.

And because he was too proud.

But also because he didn't want anyone to get hurt.

He might not show his emotion, because he barely let himself have any, but he had emotion, and he could very well remember the shock as he saw John being held hostage. He could remember it very well.

And it might had appeared that he did not care for Molly, but he did.

Sherlock had always looked down upon her, had barely seen her at all, and had used her for his own benefits, using her feelings towards him to get what he wanted.

He hadn't known how much he liked her until he saw those black soulless eyes that weren't hers.

Of course, they had three Time Lords. Of course they had two hunters. Of course they had an angel at their side...

But it would be of no use.

If Moriarty wanted something then he would get it.

He would make sure that no one would interrupt them. He would make sure that his plan worked, and his plan would only work if he could talk to Sherlock alone.

Moriarty would kill them, without hesitation, if that was what he had to do.

That was why the detective decided he would go alone.

Yes, Sherlock Holmes should have told his friends that he would leave to face his mortal enemy.

He didn't, though.

That was his mistake.

He didn't tell them where he would go.

John and Eleven were in the kitchen, probably trying to make jam sandwiches since nothing eatable besides jam and bread was in the house.

Sam Winchester sat on the sofa, his phone in his hand while he scrolled down pages over pages of Internet sides.

The other two Time Lords stood next to the fire place with their backs towards the doorway, talking in hushed voices.

Sherlock had the urge to say goodbye to John, but he didn't. John would only ask him too many questions that Sherlock wasn't able to answer, and in the end he would try to stop him or even follow him.

Somehow it hurt, to leave John, his best and probably only friend, without saying goodbye.

He took a deep breath as he slipped past the door like a tall shadow in a dark coat. He almost made no sounds. He was sure no one had heard him, and he was right. The detective carefully walked down the old stairs which always creaked too loud if you were putting all your body weight on them.

Sherlock took a deep breath of musty air. The wood of the stairs was very old and no matter how much effort Mrs. Hudson put into cleaning the hallway it still smelled like old wood and thick air. He had never wasted too much time with thinking about the old house, but now he couldn't help but admit that he liked it a lot.

Especially their flat.

The air outside wasn't as cold as Sherlock had thought but it was still chilly.

To his surprise he was greeted with the sight of Dean Winchester and Castiel sitting on the stairs, both clearly not minding the personal space of the other.

It was, however, no surprise to see them so close together. Even Sherlock, who claimed to have his feelings packed away in a box in his mind palace, could see that those both had sexual tension floating around them like a cloud above their heads. He was not blind, after all.

It was just a matter of time until those both would be found kissing each other senseless, and Sherlock really didn't want to be there when that happened. However, both had noticed him and turned around to him, jumping away from each other as if they had been slapped.

"Oh, it's you." The Winchester grumbled, his voice rough. Sherlock was aware that he had destroyed the moment between those two, but at the moment he really really couldn't care less - not that he would have cared anyway.

"Yes, me." Sherlock snorted and had to suppress rolling his eyes."And what are you two doing here? Finally admitting your feelings for each other, I hope."

Even in the dim light of the streetlamps the blush on their faces was obvious.

"No." Dean finally snorted, his jaw clenched. "We were kinda busy dealing with our lifes until you came."

This time Sherlock rolled his eyes before he strode past them. "Well, then continue."

He knew they would likely go back upstairs, which meant they were the only ones who had seen him. They would tell the others.

Sherlock was already on the street as he heard the calm voice of the angel. "Where are you going?"

Sherlock turned around on his heels, not quite sure how to answer that, and so he answered with the first thing that came to his mind. "Me? Oh, I want to buy some milk." He smiled cooly. "Now, if you wouldn't mind, I need to go."

There was still enough milk in the fridge, and he really hoped those both wouldn't mention the milk while John was around, but that couldn't be avoided.

So he had to hurry...

With steady steps he walked down the sidewalk, searching for a cab.

The cabby was a man of few words and Sherlock was glad because he really wasn't in the mood for talking; not that he ever was, unless it was related to a case.

In fact, he only spoke to Sherlock as they arrived at the warehouse. "I really don't know what you could want here..." Was what the cabby mumbled. "In that old warehouse is absolutely nothing left."

Sherlock opened the door and turned his head back to the cabby, one foot already on the ground outside. "It is a meeting." He answered, smiling forcefully.

The cabby, who had unruly blonde hair and was about fourty years old, furrowed his brow. Somehow he reminded Sherlock of John even if the cabby didn't even look like John at all. It had to be the blonde hair and Sherlock's imagination. "I hope you're not about to get yourself killed..."

Sherlock smiled again, and this time it wasn't as forced as the first smile. "I don't think so." He lied.

The cabby nodded thoughtfully, and that was the end of the conversation.

The sound of the cab and Sherlock's footsteps where the only thing to be heared in the open space of the place. Sherlock waited until he could only see the faint lights of the cab in the distance until he made his way over the place towards the old house.

The fire had been great and had nearly destroyed half of the building. Only the left wing was intact, but the rest of the wood that hadn't been destroyed was getting old and mouldy.

The sound of the rain against the asphalt was calming and the fresh air was nice.

It was dark in the rooms and Sherlock could barely see anything besides the white walls, but maybe that was because there was _nothing_ there; all the shelves, desks and chairs had been removed. Nothing was left, nothing besides empty rooms and cracked linoleum.

The sound of his steps was swallowed by the rain and the walls as Sherlock walked towards the middle of the left side of the warehouse. The wind was noisy as well, howling like a dog. It was,indeed, a great night for the final showdown.

The detective's eyes darted around, expecting Moriarty to jump out of the shadows, but nothing happened. The only living things were some mice that rushed back into their holes as Sherlock approached them.

Finally he reached the storage space, a big room that once must have held hundreds of shelves and boxes. The roof had a big hole and rain had flooded the floor. The dim light from outside that shone through the hole in the roof and the broken windows was barely enough to make out two box-like shapes in the middle of the room.

Sherlock's whole body tensed up as he walked towards the middle of the room.

"It took you long enough to come here." Moriarty's voice echoed from above the boxes. "I was worried you wouldn't come since you didn't write back." A sighed. "Where are your manners, Sherly?"

Sherlock clenched his jaw but smiled. "I was busy figuring out what you could want from me."

There was a snicker to be heared, followed by the snap of two fingers, and the middle of the room was lit up by soft white light.

Sherlock squinted his eyes against the bright light. However, his eyes widened in surprise and his mouth opened as he finally saw _what_ was in front of him. "So, here they are..."

He had been right; the two shadows in the middle of the room were boxes - telephone boxes, painted in blue, both looking slightly different but yet they seemed to be the same. They were unmistakable.

The TARDIS. _Two_ TARDIS. Sherlock didn't even know what the plural of TARDIS was, but that clearly wasn't the most important thing to discover right now; Sherlock was more interested in HOW Moriarty had been able to get his hands on BOTH boxes.

Speaking of the criminal mastermind, Moriarty leaned his body forwards; he sat on the edge of the older looking TARDIS, his legs dangling as he grinned at Sherlock.

He wore his Westwood suit, of course, and had a pleased look on his face.

Sherlock noticed that he was alone...

So it really was just the both of them.

"I see,you are surprised? I thought you would have figured it out by now." Moriarty shrugged his shoulders. "They are lovely, aren't they?" He asked, one hand sliding over the wood of the telephone box underneath him. "I love their design, but sadly I won't be able to keep them..." He sighed dramatically and his eyes focused on Sherlock.

"What do you intend to do with these?" The detective asked, casually, his hands clasped behind his back as he walked around the boxes, followed by Moriarty's eyes.

"Oh,well, that is none of your business." Sherlock stopped, his eyes darting back up to the criminal sitting on the left box. "I'd rather talk about...you."

Sherlock raised his eyebrow sceptically. "Me?" He asked, slowly. "Why?"

Was Moriarty playing on time? Was he trying to distract Sherlock?

Why would Moriarty want to talk about him? Why now?

All Moriarty ever talked about was he himself and his great plans, talking about Sherlock was totally out of character for Moriarty.

_Unless..._

Unless he wanted to compare them.

Unless he wanted to point out Sherlock's _flaws_.

Unless there was a _major reason_.

Moriarty rocked his head from side to side, humming thoughtfully. "Well, because I think you don't even know who you really are." He stopped to add a dramatic pause."I'd like to help you with that."

Sherlock couldn't help himself, he had to laugh out at that. He, not knowing himself?

"Please, I think I know very well who I am."

Moriarty snickered, his eyes looking like two black holes in his face. "Are you sure? Because I bet you don't."

There was the rustle of clothes and then something was dropped in front of Sherlock, landing on the wet floor with a soft thud.

Sherlock didn't move but he could very well see what was in front of him on the floor.

A book.

"Pick it up, Sherly." Moriarty insisted, his voice impatient. "I want to see your face when you finally get it."

Sherlock didn't want to. He didn't want to take the book, simply because Moriarty wanted him to take it, but he had to. Else he wouldn't get far. And So Sherlock bent down and took the book in his hand.

The cover was nicely done; an old room in dark colors, one of those ridiculous deerstalker on a small table...However, it wasn't the cover itself that stuck Sherlock; it was the title.

In big, red letters there was written his name:

_ Sherlock Holmes. _

Sherlock snorted and looked up at Moriarty. What was this? A joke?

"And?" Moriarty asked, his eyes bright and too big for his round face. "Do you finally get it?"

Sherlock didn't answer, simply shook his head. No. No, that didn't make any sense.

Moriarty took a deep breath through his nose and jumped from the TARDIS. "It's all written. Your life, the characters, everything. They made you up. They took this book as a pattern."

_What?_

Sherlock's thoughts were racing.

This was absurd, made no sense...

Moriarty stood now in front of Sherlock, his hands folded in front of his stomach.

"Your life, Sherlock, has been made up. Everything. Why do you think Mrs. Hudson allows you to keep all the body parts in the fridge? Because she was _designed_ to allow it. Why do you think Lestrade even _bothers talking_ to you? Because he _has to_. Why do you think JOHN wants to LIVE with you? HM? Because _THEY_ said so!"

Sherlock blinked. "They?" Was all he was able to ask.

Moriarty sighed in frustration. "The angels? God?"

"That makes no sense!" Sherlock shook his head. "Why would anyone-"

"Because of what you ARE Sherlock!" Moriarty interrupted him. "Or, because of what you can be...I guess Castiel didn't tell you about your soul?Hm?"

No.

The angel hadn't said anything.

Though, there was no way that Sherlock would believe anything that Moriarty said.

"I thought so." Moriarty nodded to himself.

"They didn't want you to know. So they made this-" Moriarty's hand slipped into the pocket of his suit. He took out the amulet that the demon had stolen from Eleven.

Sherlock's brow furrowed even more and he couldn't hide his confusion. He tried to stay calm, of course, and outwardly he managed to look as calm as always, but he had to admit that he wondered what Moriarty wanted to achieve with telling him untrustworthy storys about his soul and angels.

"Your soul is intact, you know?" Moriarty continued and began to walk in a circle around Sherlock. "You are something special, but I think that you know. Smart, intelligent, solving crimes, defeating the evil...They've made you to their perfect little _solider_ and that is why they didn't want you to get the amulet, that is why they've locked it away, because they were afraid that you would decide to become something else, something that they _didn't want_ your soul to become."

Moriarty chuckled darkly. "They've made plans for you. You don't even know how dangerous you could be, how dangerous you are simply for existing." Moriarty stopped, his eyes on Sherlock, who held the steady gaze of the criminal. "You know about the Pandorica and its purpose, don't you? All the-" Moriarty rolled his eyes and raised his hands. " '- thing to lock away the creature that could rip worlds apart.'" A grin spread across Moriarty's face as he leaned towards Sherlock. "That piece of missing soul is what they tried to hide. Not that stupid Time Lord. Hm, even if I have to admit; he IS quite a chaotic fellow."

Sherlock couldn't help himself; he leaned forward and snapped, "Why telling me this? Why now?"

This was a trick, had to be. Sherlock knew very well that Moriarty was a master in playing mind games. This 'facts' were irrelevant for Moriarty's plans, so why telling Sherlock about them?

Moriarty didn't like Sherlock, and if you would ask Sherlock he would say that the Moriarty's relationship towards him could be described as a hate-love-obsession.

Moriarty wanted to be better, wanted to be the best, so why 'helping' Sherlock, why telling him anything about himself?

Was this really a part of Moriarty's plan?

"This makes no sense to me." The detective admitted quietly.

Moriarty sighed as if he was disappointed in Sherlock's lack of being able to understand the whole point. "Okay, so, stand still and listen to the tale."

"Once we were told that every soul has its destination. You are born and life decides whether you're 'evil' or 'good'." Moriarty raised his hands to make quotation marks for both of the words. "You can't change that because fate, that bitch and her sisters, they have already decided what you will become, what you will do, what will happen, has to happen blah-blah-blah."

The criminal raised his index-finger, the fingers of his other hand tightening around the amulet.

"But then there are the special souls, those without destiny. 'Free will' you may call it. Neither Heaven nor Hell affect these souls and fate is unable to get a grip on them. They are bound to nothing. That is why they are dangerous, that is why they have to be watched, because no step of them is predictable. There are thousends of ways to go for this soul and you won't be able to tell which way it will go because you can't _see_ it."

Moriarty paused, giving Sherlock time to think about what had been said.

This was ridiculous. So Moriarty tried to say that Sherlock was such a soul?

Sure.

Castiel would have told him if something like this was the matter, especially if he was so important to the change of events. But then again, Moriarty had said that he had assumed that Castiel wouldn't tell him...

Did that mean Moriarty knew the angel?

"Who are you...?" Sherlock mumbled, more to himself than to Moriarty. " _What_ are you..."

Moriarty giggled and tilted his head. "Me? Didn't _he_ tell you? I am hurt."

The criminal streched out his arms, a grin on his face.

"I am an angel of the Lord." He stopped, a frown on his face. " Or, I was an angel of the Lord until I followed Lucifer down to Hell. Now...Hm, I have to say I don't really know what I am. A fallen angel? A black angel?" The criminal snickered. "Anyway, I am no human nor am I a full angel." His body swayed from side to side as he smiled almost bashfully. "Maybe a hybrid. But that sounds so nasty..."

This was getting more and more out of hand.

An angel, Moriarty?

Sherlock swallowed hard, trying to figure out how to defeat an angel.

He didn't know.

He hadn't asked.

It now occurred to him that he was more unprepared than he had thought.

He was basically weaponless against Moriarty, and even his great mind failed him.

He was trapped, trapped in a warehous with a mad ex-angel of the Lord.

Maybe he should have told the others where he would go.

However, he hadn't.

And now he was all on his own.

Even if his mind failed him right now, one thing it could tell him; _you have lost the game, Sherlock. There is no way out if this_.

Okay, so, Moriarty tried to tell him that everything had been set up, that the persons he knew were fake, that everything was a fake, even Sherlock himself. The angels had taken his freedom so he wouldn't be able to make a wrong decision, or a decision at all. Sherlock looked down to the book in his hand. It would be easy to open the cover and look inside but he couldn't bring himself to open it. Every fibre of his being refused to believe a word that Moriarty said, if that was even his real name, but Sherlock couldn't deny that there was a weird feeling inside him,something he couldn't place, maybe it was...doubt?

"Your real name is not Moriarty, then?" The detective casually asked. He still had his eyes on the book cover. Moriarty chuckled and shook his head. "Nope. I thought it would fit to take that name since the stage was already set for the show. Didn't want to ruin it."

Sherlock looked up again and saw the big grin on Moriarty's face. He was enjoying this far too much...

Okay, putting the fakts together...

Moriarty was a fallen angel and Sherlock had no clue what his _real_ name was or how to defeat him. Sherlock had no weapon, besides the book in his hand but that wouldn't do much good against an angel,fallen or not, and Moriarty seemed to know too much, more than Sherlock.

"And everything is a lie..."Sherlock mumbled, slowly trying to put everything together.

"Yes, pretty much." Moriarty was far too cheerful for this conversation.

"The people I have met, Molly, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, _John_..." Sherlock's stomach clenched by the thought that John didn't like him because he _wanted_ to but because he _had to_ , because that was his destiny, because the angels had told him to like Sherlock...

And here Sherlock had thought someone actually _liked_ him...

He actually felt like he was about to break down because of the sheer amount of news. But, there was still no proof, no nothing...

Maybe it was a lie.

He felt sick.

"They have been ..." Sherlock stopped to find a good word but Moriarty interrupted him.

"Brainwashed, manipulated, formed, call it whatever you want. It's not only the names, you know? Even their character, their soul, has been manipulated to fit the story. "

Moriarty sighed."Those poor souls only live to serve one purpose; playing the game that the angels made up." Moriarty began to walk around Sherlock again, his arms clasped behind his back. "It wasn't me who started it, you know, Sherly? I only came to earth to open your pretty little eyes, nothing more."

Sherlock snorted and Moriarty's head turned to face him, his eyes narrowed.

"Excuse me, but killing people is not how you open someones eyes." Sherlock pointed out, his voice cool.

Moriarty rolled his eyes as he huffed in annoyance. "Who cares? One or two souls less on this world. It was worth it, after all I got your attention and here we aaahaaaareeee-" The criminal angel chanted, rocking his body from side to side as he grinned like a maniac.

Sherlock tried to calm himself by taking a deep breath through his nose. His hands tightened around the soft leather of the book before he placed it on a dry spot on the floor.

"There is no proof that you are telling the truth."

Moriarty furrowed his brow while his eyes widened in disbelief, a very weird combination...

"What? Why would I lie about that, Sherly?" The fallen angel leaned forward, his huge dark eyes reflecting the small amount of light like a two black mirrors. "That would be a waste of time, right?"

"And besides-" Moriarty nodded towards the book that was lying on the floor in the shadow of one TARDIS. "There IS your proof, you just have to take a look inside."

"You could have written it." Sherlock snapped.

Moriarty grinned but there was no humor in his soulless eyes. " _Why_ would I?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "You like to play games."

Moriarty was still for mere seconds before he snickered. "Oh, that's true, it is...but..." He leaned back up and raised the hand that held the amulet. "What about this?"

Sherlock raised one eyebrow at the golden amulet; it was beautiful, golden with small carvings which could very well also be sigils or signs.

"Don't you want to open it?" Moriarty asked, curiosity in his dark eyes. "See what's inside, deciding what to be..." he trailed off, very well knowing that Sherlock would ask, "What to be?"

The criminal nodded solemnly. "Yes. They took that away, too. Your soul is free, Sherly, free to be whatever it wants to be. They took that all away because they were too afraid of your true power." The disgust in his voice as he spoke about the angels was unmistakable.

He really had to hate the angels, and some part in the back of Sherlock's head wondered why.

"Why would you offer me to take it?" There was mistrust in Sherlock's voice, but who could blame him? Moriarty was the enemy, after all...

Moriarty shrugged his shoulders. "To annoy them?" The eyebrow of the detective raised even higher and the criminal rolled his eyes. "I don't know, okay? I just really like the idea of destroying their work, that's all. I mean, aren't you angry?"

Sherlock blinked in surprise. "Angry? Angry _why_?"

Moriarty ran his hands over his face as he shook his head. He almost seemed close to grabbing his hair in frustration. "Don't you get it? They _made up your whole life!_ And for what? They want to use you, Sherly, that's their plan, but clearly you are not important enough to be 'saved' otherwise this hall would be full of angels. As you can see, we are still alone." The criminal took his hands away from his face, his eyes wide and crazy. "They took away your _life_ , Sherlock. Don't you want revenge?"

There was honest disbelief in Moriarty's voice as if he couldn't understand that Sherlock didn't want to slaughter every angel for splitting his soul.

But Sherlock wasn't angry, also not disappointed.

The only thing that really pained him was the thought that all his 'friends' , he still refused to call them friends, were a fake. That _John_ was someone who had been made up to join him so they could fight crimes together.

The thought that no one actually really liked him was frightening.

And the thought that _he_ _himself_ was no real person at all, that he was only the shadow of a fictional character, was even more frightening.

Yes, if he was anything at all then it was afraid.

"Don't you want to know what you can be?" Moriarty whispered into his ear, now standing behind Sherlock. "Don't you want to be a _real_ person, deciding your own path?"

Sherlock's heart hammered in his chest and he didn't know why. His throat felt dry and he noticed that he was... _nervous_.

Yes, he would like to know.

Somewhere in his head a voice screamed; _no, you don't! This is part of his plan, you idiot! Of course it is part of his plan! Are you blind?_

But there was also a part inside him that almost yearned for the part of his soul inside the amulet.

_This is ridiculous._

_All of this is ridiculous._

The logical part of his brain was clearly angry at him for even considering to believe anything that Moriarty had said.

However, the emotional part, no matter how small it was, was clearly telling him to try it.

What was the worst that could happen anyway?

Sherlock wondered when he had started to doubt everything he knew.

He couldn't see the malicious grin that formed on Moriarty's lips as the criminal mastermind noticed that the detective began to surrender.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way; this story is far from being over, just so you know.


	13. And his name is...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who exactly is Moriarty?  
> ...  
> And what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter is a bit shorter than the others, but I think it is better that it ends where it ends now. Also; school has started again, so the updates might take some time. However, of course I will try to update as fast as possible.

**Chapter 12**

"That was sooooo cute!Oh Cassie, are you in love? Oh that's sooooo adorable, I think I gonna puke! _Cassie and Deanie sitting on the stairs, almost k-i-s-s-i-n-g_." Lucifer snickered as he jumped up and down next to Castiel, clapping his hands like a hyperactive child that was about to get its long-desired candy. . "Oh Cassie, _falling_ for a human! It's like in those fairy tales!"

Castiel groaned inwardly. It had been a...weird moment on the stairs and he really didn't know what to think of it, but it had given Lucifer the perfect opportunity to find a new way to make Castiel uneasy in public spaces. The angel was sure he was blushing a few times but Dean never asked why. Maybe he could imagine what was going on inside Castiel's head, maybe he didn't want to make Castiel uncomfortable. Either way, Castiel was glad that he didn't ask about it.

"You know, I think I get a bit protective here, after all you're my little bro."

Castiel rolled his eyes and gave Lucifer an angry glare. There was nothing to be protective of, especially since Lucifer didn't care about Castiel at all.

He was not his _brother_ , not the way Balthazar or Uriel had been, and they didn't share a bond like Dean and Sam did. In fact, Lucifer was more an annoying dick that tried to make Castiel's life on earth the worst it could be.

And if there was anything that Lucifer didn't do then it was worrying about Castiel and his well-being. After all he was the one who constantly tried to make Castiel feel as miserable as he could.

Lucifer shrugged his shoulders as he followed Dean and Castiel up the stairs. "Just want to make sure you know what's going to happen." The fallen angel chirped, his hands folded behind his back as he eyed Castiel with mischief in his eyes. He enjoyed making Castiel feel uncomfortable, especially around Dean. It was as if he wanted to destroy whatever it was that began to form between Castiel and Dean, just to see them both suffer.

Lucifer didn't like Dean, not as much as he _used_ to like Sam, but that was probably because Sam was supposed to be his vessel. Dean had been the one who had stopped him, technically, because he had triggered all the memories which had helped Sam to fight Lucifer. You couldn't really see it, and of course Lucifer never said anything about it, but the fallen archangel was still very angry about the fact that his freedom had been taken away from him by the hand of two 'normal' human boys.

Dean and Sam, of course, were anything else than normal, but Lucifer refused to see that. Maybe that was because he was still sulking over his lost freedom.

"I mean, c'mon!" Lucifer winked at Castiel, who really tried to ignore his brother. Sadly that wasn't easy, and even the pills didn't help as much as they used to. That was probably because Castiel's body and mind became immune against the active substance. He should probably ask Dean for stronger medication if he wanted to get rid of Lucifer longer than just a few minutes.

Lucifer grinned from ear to ear as he leaned towards Castiel's ear. "We both know that all he wants to do is fuck y-"

Castiel's grip around the banister tightened a bit too much and the old wood under his fingers began to splinter.

"Whoa,dude, you're okay?" Dean, who was now standing a few stair steps above Castiel, turned his head around to look at the angel. Castiel could barely see the outlines of his body in the dim light of the stairwell but he could almost feel his hidden worry.

The angel cleared his throat and nodded. "Yes." Was his simple answer, but his voice was tight and his face grim. Dean furrowed his brow but turned around again, knowing that Castiel wouldn't tell him what was going on inside him.

Lucifer snickered again, humming in amusement as Castiel followed Dean.

"You know it's truhuuu"

The atmosphere in the flat was much better than it had been as Dean and Castiel had left. Sam and Ten were laughing about something on the screen of Sam's phone, and Castiel was sure he could hear Dean mumbling something like; "Get together of nerds."

The Master looked as if he was very bored by the conversation; the blonde Time Lord took a bite of the sandwich that he held loosly in his hand, his feet restlessly shuffling over the floor as he munched without enthusiasm.

"Oh,you are back!" Eleven beamed. He jumped up from his chair and grabbed two of the plates that stood on the small table. The Time Lord shoved the plates into Dean's and Castiel's hands, his eyes bright as he grinned from ear to ear. "I hope you like jam! It's delicious!"

Dean snorted but eyed the sandwich with interested, while Castiel stared down on the plate as if he wasn't sure what to do with the food - which he wasn't.

"I do not require food..."The angel began, but the Doctor just continued to look at him as if the sandwich was the creation of his life.

Dean rolled his eyes and nodded with his head towards the living room. "Let's sit down."

The hunter sat down in the armchair while the angel stopped to stand awkwardly next to the chair as if he wasn't sure what to do with himself. "Are you gonna tell them?" Lucifer asked, his eyes curious. "About your almost kiss with the Winchester?"

Castiel, as almost always, didn't answer.

Lucifer tapped his chin with his index-finger as his eyes came to rest on Sam. "I wonder what he would think about that..." He said with a nod towards the younger Winchester.

After several minutes of awkwardly standing next to the chair without touching the sandwich the angel decided to put the plate back on the small table. Of course Castiel could see the disappointment in Eleven's face, but he wasn't hungry and therefore didn't want to eat. He would apologize later.

Castiel had to admit he was mesmerized by the way that Eleven's soul shone.  
The soul itself was a mixture of small clockworks and rings of light which were glowing softly in a greenish light. He could still see the imprint of the older souls, like Ten's, but the green and silver of Eleven's soul was much more intense than the gold and orange of Ten's.

 _It looks like a part of the universe_ , Castiel realized. All of them, together, looked like small little universes patched together into a layer until they became one big universe of moving clockworks and light. The current soul, though, was still the strongest of all and was shining above them like the center of it.  
However, there was something off about it Eleven's current layer of soul, but Castiel couldn't quite place _what_.

Castiel's gaze wandered to the Master; he had a beautiful soul, too, even if most of his clockworks were damaged and barely working. The lights of his souls, however, were as bright and shining as the ones of the Doctor. The current layer of the Master's soul was an icy blue, which reminded Castiel of lightning.

Sam looked up from his phone as he noticed that his brother was back in the room. "Dean, Cas." His gaze wandered from Dean to Castiel. "Everything alright again?" There was worry in his voice, but then again, when wasn't Sam Winchester worried?

Lucifer chuckled at that, his body swaying from side to side as he grinned.

"Yes, Sam." Castiel nodded. "I feel much better now."

Lucifer laughed at that, his hand rubbing his chin while his eyes darted from Sam to Dean and back to Castiel. "Feeling a bit...in love?" The fallen archangel asked, his elbow jabbing Castiel's side. "Right?"

Castiel ignored his brother, instead he fixed his gaze on Dean, who seemed to enjoy his sandwich.

Yes, Castiel loved Dean.

He loved him with every fibre of his being.

That had been the reason for many things he had done, for things that he was frowned upon by the other angels.

Castiel was still not used to be able to love like a human, similar to other human things and emotions that he experienced while being around the Winchesters, and that was why he was often confused by his own behavior. Angels had not been designed to feel like humans did, or to be close to humans, they had been designed to take orders and obey.

He had been good at that, at taking orders, at obeying, but the more time he had spent with humans, with Dean, the more he had begun to question things, to make own decisions...

Though, he had never been able to decide whether he loved Dean or not, because loving Dean was now one of his traits, something that had been burned into his being like his handprint on Dean's arm.

With Dean and Castiel it had always been something else.

Castiel couldn't tell when he had started to love Dean, but he could remember the first time he had seen Dean, in the Pit, his soul so bright and beautiful.

He must have started to love Dean as he had touched his soul with his Grace.

Castiel could remember the first time he had touched him, gripped him tight to save him from Hell, and he could remember all the things he had seen, felt, while touching Dean's soul.

He knew Dean. He knew everything. And he loved everything about Dean, because to Castiel Dean was more than perfect. To Castiel, Dean was everything.

Sometimes it was a bit frightening.

Sometimes he remembered being a solider of Heaven without the ability to love like humans did.

And yes, maybe it was because he had touched Dean's soul, maybe it was because of the bond that had formed between them, and yes, maybe he would have never cared about Dean if he hadn't touched his soul back then in Hell.

Castiel, however, was very glad that he loved Dean,that he was able to love Dean like a human loved another human being, because he couldn't even remember the time as love was nothing more than a word to him, as there had been no Dean for him.

Emotions, Castiel had realized, were beautiful. And so were humans.

 _"You do realize that emotions make you weak?"_ He once had been asked by Uriel.

 _"You do know that he isn't able to understand the love you have for him, do you?"_ He once had been asked by Balthazar.

His answer had been yes, both times.

But even if emotions made him weak, and even if Dean could never understand the way Castiel loved him, Castiel would never want to go back to Heaven. He would never be able to go back to Heaven anyway, not after what he had done.

 _"We will watch over you, Castiel."_ Inias had promised. _"We will help you."_

_But I don't deserve your help..._

Lucifer grinned as he watched Castiel, knowing very well what was going on inside Castiel's mind. However, it was John who pulled Castiel out of his thoughts.

"Does anyone know where Sherlock is?" The blonde man asked. "He isn't in my room and neither in his..."

Dean raised one eyebrow. "Holmes? He's buying milk." John's eyes widened slowly while a mixture of disbelief and confusion crossed his face. "He didn't tell you?" Dean asked, now confused as well. Why would John start to panic if he was told that Sherlock was buying milk?

"I have the feeling that something is very wrong here." Ten began and Eleven nodded in agreement. "Yes! There is enough milk in the fridge! Why would he buy more..."

"Because he doesn't, damn it." Sam rubbed his face with his hand before he stood up. They all knew that this could only mean one thing; Sherlock had gone to take care of the case on his own.

"This idiot!" John mumbled, frustration and anger in his voice as he began to pace up and down in front of the others. "It has to be Moriarty...Maybe he finally figured something out, or ...he got a note...something...And now he is trying to beat him on his own!"

"What are we doing now?" The Master wanted to know, his dark eyes fixed on John, following every step the smaller man took. "You know we can't find him, right? He could be everywhere by now."

Sam shook his head. "We can't find him." The younger Winchester turned to look at Castiel. "But you can find him, right? One quick flight over London and you know where he is. He can't be far away."

John's eyes widened in surprise, and all eyes were directed at Castiel, waiting for him to agree.

The angel sighed in frustration. This wasn't going to be as easy as they hoped. "I cannot search for him. "

There was silence in the room as everyone continued to stare at him. All their hopes of finding Sherlock were pointed at him. "Why?" Dean wanted to know, his voice serious. Maybe he assumed that Lucifer, again, was stopping Castiel from helping them.

Castiel took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "He would detect my presence." The angel opened his eyes again, just to look into the confused faces of the others.

"Who?" The Winchesters asked in unison.

Castiel knew he wouldn't be able to get out of this without telling them who Moriarty _really_ was. Blue eyes darted to the side; Lucifer was watching him, his arms crossed in front of his chest while his eyes were narrowed. The fallen angel shook his head, slowly, and Castiel knew it was a warning.

Dean, however, must have realized why Castiel's gaze had drifted to his side. The older Winchester reached for Castiel's arm; Dean's grip was strong but not trying to hurt him, it was more to steady Castiel.

"C'mon, tell us what you know, Cas." Dean said, his green eyes wide and serious, and Castiel really wanted to, he really wanted to help them, but he had to admit that he feared the wrath of his older brother.

Castiel stared at Dean, then he turned his head to look back at Lucifer. His brother lowered his head, his eyes still fixed on Castiel. "I wouldn't try." He said with a grave tone in his voice.

"Castiel." Sam's voice was soft, and soothing, and Castiel turned his head to look at the younger Winchester. The angel knew how he had to look like, his eyes wide and his body tense, and he felt like a frightened animal... "You know that he is an illusion,right?"

Of course he knew.

Lucifer snorted and gave Sam a disdainful glance. "Says the moose who couldn't handle me either."

Castiel gulped but nodded.

"Illusion? What?" The Master asked, annoyed because he didn't know what was going on. Ten shook his head, his index-finger pressed against his lips, and the Master huffed but stayed quiet.

Castiel started to feel really uncomfortable under the gaze of everyone, causing him to play with the belt of his coat to calm himself, something that had become a habit of his whenever he became too nervous. "It's not that easy..." The angel mumbled.

Sam sighed and nodded slowly. "I know." And yes, of course he knew.

"Please." Dean's steady gaze seemed to look right into Castiel. Castiel pressed his lips together and his body tensed up. Who was he to deny Dean a plea?

"Don't you dare, Castiel." Lucifer hissed, low and dangerous.

"His real name is not Moriarty." Castiel began, and Lucifer took a step forward, towards Castiel. "He is a fallen angel." Lucifer took another step, but Castiel stayed where he was, his hands clenched into fists while his eyes were on Dean. He knew that everyone was watching him now, their eyes wide and their mouths open, but Castiel's eyes were firmly fixed on the hunter's face. He could see the freckles, and he knew every one of them.

"His name is Murmur." Lucifer hissed in anger and Castiel's eyes darted to Lucifer, a small smile of triumph on his lips before his eyes wandered back to Dean, who held his gaze without saying a word.

"Murmur?" Sam asked. "Murmur, the angel that is now a duke in Hell?"

Dean' raised his eyebrows in surprise, and he turned his head to look at his brother. "What the fuck, Sam? You know him?"

Sam rolled his eyes and waved his brother off. "Not in person. But I've read about him." A small grin flashed across Sam's lips. "Research. Someone of us has to know things, right?"

Dean wrinkled his nose, clearly annoyed by the fact that Sam knew something that he didn't.

"So, who exactly is this...Murmur..."Ten asked, leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees.

John was oddly quiet and pale. No wonder, the mortal enemy of his best friend was suddenly a fallen angel...Castiel assumed that was quite a shock.

"He is a duke of Hell, a fallen angel that now owns thirty legions of demons and evil spirits." It was Sam who answered, not Castiel, who was currently busy watching Dean; the hunter was looking at his brother, but Castiel knew that Dean could feel his gaze.  
Lucifer grumbled something, trying to get Castiel's attention.  
"His favourite vessels were known to be warriors. He usually wears a dual crown and is able to force the death souls to appear in front of him to answer his questions."

There was silence while everyone tried to cope with the news.

"A duke...of Hell..." Dean began, slowly. His face was stern and thoughtfully and Castiel knew that Dean didn't like the idea of fighting a duke of Hell, not one bit.

Dealing with a duke of Hell would surely be dangerous, especially if it was one with the behavior of Murmur. He was smart and he knew how to play. He knew how to get someone to _talk_ , to _obey_ , and it wouldn't be easy to outsmart him.

But, then again, they had once outsmarted Crowley, a demon who was now known as king of Hell, so maybe they would be able to defeat a fallen angel that now was a duke of Hell.

"Do you remember him?" Sam asked, his brow furrowed in worry. Dean shook his head. No. He didn't, because at that time Murmur had already been Moriarty .

"Do you know him?" Dean turned to look at Castiel. The angel nodded briefly. "I did. When he still was an angel. But I was too young and he fell soon after Lucifer. My memories of him are blurry and not reliable."

It was true, he could barely remember Murmur. Castiel hadn't seen him very often and after Lucifer's fall he had simply vanished from Heaven. No one had ever spoken about him again.

Lucifer snorted, his narrowed eyes glowing with anger. "He fell for _me_ , kiddo." He said, and there was pride in his voice.

Yes, there had been a few angels that had fallen for Lucifer, but Murmur had always been the one who had admired Lucifer the most.

"Well, great!" Dean stood up and placed the now empty plate on the arm of the armchair. "What are we waiting for? Let's summon him!"

Castiel sighed heavily and shook his head once again. If just things would be this easy. "No, Dean. You cannot summon him."

Dean stopped in his tracks. "Why?" He asked bluntly, clearly not understanding why they couldn't summon the fallen angel.

Lucifer groaned and buried his face in his hands. "Oh Cassie, your hunter is an idiot."

The fallen angel was still angry, Castiel could feel his rage like a shudder underneath his skin, but Lucifer held back and Castiel was sure he would strike when Castiel wasn't expecting it. That was a bit alarming, especially now that Castiel knew Lucifer's temper very well, but Castiel chose to ignore that feeling and focused instead on the problem.

"Because he is a fallen angel, Dean." Sam answered patiently. "We would need a book of black magic to summon someone like him."

And there was no time to find a book of black magic.

"Anyway, he is far too powerful to be summoned like a normal angel."

Dean groaned and dropped back in the armchair. "Great." He grumbled.

"However,..."Sam began, slowly, and Castiel could hear his hesitation. "We know how to call a demon. Let's assume that Meg works for Mor- Murmur-"

Dean interrupted his brother with a shallow laughter. "Oh no Sammy, don't you dare! We don't need the help of a friggin' demon bitch!"

Castiel had to agree, even if he didn't like Dean's choice of words for describing Meg. "It would take take too long to get her to tell us where Sherlock is." The angel agreed. "And we do not know if she _is_ working for Murmur."

"Wow, that's awesome." The Master said, his legs crossed in front of him while he watched the Winchesters and Castiel. "You three are arguing about morals and demons while Sherlock is facing a fallen angel on his own, without knowing how to defeat it. That's truly awesome. I think we should make a movie out of it an call it-" He stopped and raised his hands to imitate a movie banner with his hands. "'How Sherlock Holmes died because his friends were too busy eating jam sandwiches.' "

"Do you have a better idea?!" Dean snapped. Castiel knew that he wasn't very fond of the Master and the words of the Time Lord only annoyed the hunter more than he already was. The Master sneered.

"Actually, I do have another idea." Sam suddenly said before the Master was able to answer with a witty comment on Dean's behavior, his face brightening up. The younger hunter turned to face Dean. "Remember when I came to help you and Cas with Alastair?"

Dean snorted. "Of course I remember that." The older Winchester mumbled.

"The whole warehouse was full of seals that made it impossible to detect the angels, and we had no idea where you were, but Ruby was able to detect you, remember?"

Dean grunted as he thought back at the scene.

Castiel tilted his head to one side. He remembered it as well. He had always wondered how Sam had been able to find them.

"Ruby showed me a way to sneak your way behind the angels' back, and I bet this can help us to find Sherlock without getting Murmurs attention!"

The name of Sherlock and the optimistic tone in Sam's voice brought John back to them, his dark blue eyes gleaming with determination.

"What do you need?"

Dean clenched his jaw, clearly not happy about Sam's idea, but no one would listen to him now anyway, and so he watched as everyone got up to prepare the ritual while Castiel stood silently next to the armchair.

"He can find him." Castiel said with his low voice. "You should have faith in Sam's abilities."

Dean snorted and leaned back against the armchair, his head resting against the back of the chair. "I do have faith in Sam's abilities." The hunter said, his eyes on the dark ceiling. "I just don't trust him in case of demon shit."

And who could blame him?

Castiel chose to stay silent, and Dean didn't say anything else.

It was not long until everything was set up. They stood in a circle around the table, their gaze directed on the map of Master watched with interest as Sam set the map on fire. Dean's eyes darkened visibly in the dim light of the flames.

"Calm down, Dean."Castiel whispered only for Dean to hear. "It is safe. Sam knows what he does." Dean said nothing, and Castiel knew how much he despised Sam's use of the ritual.

The flames died down and only one part of the map had been left. Sam carefully picked up the remaining piece, his brow furrowing. "Do you know this place?" He turned towards John.

The army doctor took a quick glance down on the paper, his eyes narrowing. "Yeah..." He said while thoughtfully scratching his temple. "There has been a fire one or two years ago. The fire destroyed half of the warehouse. The house is abandoned now because no one bothered to rebuild it due the high reconstruction costs."

Sam turned to Cas. "Can you take us there?"

Of course he could.


	14. Help is on the way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> However, is this help needed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Ho! Here is the new Chappy. I'll try to update within 2-3 weeks, or at least once a month!  
> +  
> thanks for all the reviews :)

**Chapter 13**

The wind was cold and harsh, the rain like small droplets of ice. It hadn't been this cold when they had returned into the flat, he was sure of that, but maybe it was just his imagination.

They all were quiet, their faces grim, except for the Master, who seemed much more stable than the others.

No one dared to say a word as they entered the empty warehouse, everybody trying to make no sound as they moved through the abandoned building. Castiel was the only one who managed to move without making the floorboards creak under his weight, but that was because he was an angel. He had to suppress his Grace, though, so Murmur couldn't sense him. His face was too pale in the darkness and his eyes dim without the glimmer of his Grace.

Dean's grip around the handle of his shotgun tightened and his eyes flickered to Sam, who gave him a questioning glance in return. _Are you sure this is a good idea?_ , his gaze seemed to ask. Of course it wasn't, but there had been no time for a good plan.

The faint glow of light was to be seen, leading them towards the center of the remaining wing. However, there were no voices to be heard, and that was slightly worrisome.

Eleven's eyes were wide as he scanned the surroundings, the green of his eyes glowing in the light of his sonic screwdriver while his face was illuminated by the faint green glow. There was something alien about it, about him, and maybe that was when Dean realized that he really was no human, even if he very much looked like one.

Dean was used to this, to hunt something not knowing what to expect, and of course Sam and Castiel were used to it as well. The Time Lords were a bit tense but not as tense as the poor John, who was afraid that his best friend was dead already.

They were closer to the light now, the hallway leading to a big room, and Dean turned around to press his finger against his lips; _be really quiet now._ The others nodded and the Master rolled his eyes.

Castiel's eyes were serious as he met Dean's gaze, and Dean knew that he had the same thought; Murmur was an angel, and the only way to actually kill an angel was an angel blade. Therefore it was Castiel who had to kill him.

Dean didn't like that thought.

He didn't want Cas to fight against a duke of Hell, fallen or not, he was still dangerous and probably older and stronger than Cas. Then again, Cas was a solider, and he knew how to fight.

So,all the others had to do was to distract Murmur.

That, of course, was easier said than done. Murmur was smart, maybe even smarter than Sherlock.

Dean pressed himself against the porous wall, trying to stay in the shadows while he walked towards the light.

There were many things that he would have expected to see, but it hadn't been this.

He had expected to see Sherlock talking to Murmur.

He had expected to see a hurt Sherlock.

He had even expected to find the detective dead on the floor.

What he hadn't been expecting, though, was to see Sherlock Holmes standing in front of two almost identical blue telephone boxes, a book in his hands while his eyes were fixed on the open pages.

He also hadn't expected to hear two shocked gasps behind himself.

"My TARDIS!" Was all Eleven said, his voice a mixture of relief and excitement, before he rushed out into the light.

"Damn it!" Dean cursed, his free hand outstretched to catch Eleven by the sleeve of his tweed jacket, but it was already too late; they had been spotted. Dean was sure he could hear the Master's snort. "Good to know that you stay stupid." Ten only groaned but didn't answer.

"Why is he running towards the blue boxes?" Sam asked, his brow furrowed in confusion."And what's a TARDIS?"

"TARDIS means _T_ ime _A_ nd _R_ elative _D_ imension _I_ n _S_ pace." Ten explained. "Weeell...Those are both versions of her...The older one is mine,of course. You could say she is my...eh...space ship."

_Space ship? What the fuck..._

There was still no sight of Murmur as Eleven was suddenly stopped in his tracks, unable to move any further. His eyes widened in surprise. Sherlock raised his head before Eleven could say anything, and his eyes fell on the figures in the shadows.

He said no word.

"Sherlock." John's voice was small and his eyes darted around to find the familiar face of Moriarty. "Are you alright?" He took a few careful steps towards the detective.

"It's all a lie, John." The detective said, his deep voice cold and his face expressionless.

"What do you mean?" Ten asked, his face worried."Sherlock, what did he tell you?"

Sherlock sighed deeply as he closed the book. "Me." He said, his voice tight. "I am a lie. He told me what Castiel didn't."

Immediately all heads turned to Castiel; the angel stood with his back against the wall, his blue eyes dim in the shadow.

"Cas?" Sam asked, his gaze questioning. Dean's stomach clenched and his eyes narrowed as a sudden pang of betrayal shot through him. "Somethin' you wanna tell us?" The hunter growled because he couldn't help himself.

Castiel flinched slightly at the wariness in Dean's voice and his eyes widened; he looked like a small child afraid of the wrath of its parents. "No!" The angel said, his voice firm even if his body language was everything else than the one of a strong man. "I do not know what Sherlock wants me to tell you!" He was almost desperate and Dean felt the knot inside his stomach loosen up. Cas would tell them if he knew something. He would, after everything that had happened. Right?

"The only thing I knew about, that I _know_ about, is Sherlock's soul, and it would not have changed anything whether _he_ had known about it or not." Castiel said, his voice urging the others to believe him.

"What do you mean with 'you knew about his soul'?" John asked, his eyes darting back and forth between the unmoving detective and the nervous angel.

Castiel bit his lower lip in frustration. This was not the right time to explain things. "His soul is... _special_..."Castiel's eyes were fixed on Sherlock, who met the gaze of the angel with no emotions on his face. "It is difficult to explain, and there is not enough time to do so! Not now!"

John's eyes narrowed and Castiel's body tensed up. "Please." The angel said, carefully choosing his words. "You need to believe me, I did not intend to keep this a secret but there had been no time to explain Sherlock's soul to any of you, including him."

It was true; too much had happened and there had barely been time to cope with certain things. Castiel had been busy dealing with Lucifer, and after that he had been around Dean and Sam. There really had been no time to talk, not for Castiel, because he had been either busy or unconscious.

_So, not his fault this time._

"I have to agree." Dean finally said and all heads turned to him. "What?" He asked, annoyed by the surprised look of the others. "We've been busy with other stuff, right? All of us."

"But there _has_ to be time for important things!" John said, angry because this was about Sherlock, his friend. Dean was sure he himself would feel angry as well, if this was about Sam or Cas. But it wasn't. And Dean knew Castiel, and he knew that Cas would have told them anything he knew if it had been relevant to the case. Therefore he must have thought that it was better to stay silent about Sherlock's soul because it would have caused too much unwanted chaos, or maybe he had believed that it would make no difference whether he told them about it or not. Or, Dean thought, there really had been no time to talk about it.

Neither of them was able to utter their thoughts on that topic because sudden laughter filled the air. "You're so adorable, Castiel. In fact, all of you are."

Moriarty, now better known as Murmur, stood next to Sherlock, his head slightly cocked the way Castiel used to tilted his head. The almost black eyes of the fallen angel watched them with interest, his hands in the pockets of his trousers as he shrugged his shoulders, a grin on his face. "Sorry to interrupt your little chat but I felt neglected."

"Murmur." Castiel's voice was grave and deep and his eyes narrowed, his body tensing up even further, ready to fight.

Murmur chuckled, his dark eyes unblinking as a smile spread across his lips. "So, the rumors are true; you truly have changed...How is Lucifer doing?"

A shudder ran through Castiel's body, barely to be seen, but Dean noticed it anyway. The discomfort was clearly visible in the lines of Castiel's body, but the angel tried not to show it. "Down in the cage, where he belongs."

The Master and Ten changed a questioning glance but neither of them dared to say something. Even the Master was quiet.

Murmur's smile grew. "Suuureeee..." He turned a bit to look at Eleven, who stood a few steps away from Sherlock and Murmur and was still unable to move. "You must have really missed that box of yours."

Dean was sure he had never seen someone looking as pissed as Eleven looked right now. "If you did anything-"

"Calm down, wild one." Murmur raised his hands in defense and rolled his eyes. "I didn't touch your Lady."

The fallen angel straightened his back. Castiel's eyes narrowed even further, and Dean wondered what Castiel could see that the others couldn't. _Wings_ , was the first thing that came to the hunter's mind.

"But, now now." The criminal mastermind smiled and Dean tightened the grip around the handle of his gun until the knuckles of his hand became white. Shooting him would do nothing, in fact it would only hurt the vessel.

_Damn it!_

The vessel...Now that Dean thought about it, didn't that mean there was another soul inside the body? Some stupid idiot that had said 'yes' without knowing what chaos the fallen angel would cause with help of his body...

"We are not here to talk about meeeee, or youuuu..." Murmur's head rocked from side to side. "We're here because it's time for Sherlock to make a loooooong overdue decision."

John's body tensed up and he took several steps into the light towards Sherlock. "Sherlock, what does that mean?!"

The army doctor came to a sudden halt as Murmur raised his left hand. "Ah Ah! We don't need interruption."

Dean couldn't see John's face, because John stood with his back to him and the others, but he could hear the desperate plea in his voice as he spoke again. "Sherlock, don't you dare listen to whatever he is about to say!"

Sherlock was oddly silent. In fact, there were no emotions to be seen on his face, not even a twitch of muscle. He just stood there, the book in his hands, watching John with cold greyish blue eyes. They were too pale for his face, those eyes, too pale to belong to a human, and a bad feeling began to spread inside Dean.

Of course.

They should have noticed.

Them of all people should have noticed it.

Something about Sherlock had been off from the start.

Something about all of this had been off from about the start.

Dean lowered his gaze to the book in Sherlock's hands, and in the faint light he could read the title; Sherlock Holmes.

Sam had noticed it too, by now, his eyes wide as he met Dean's knowing gaze. So, that's what he was talking about, that's why he had said he was a fake.

The book. He must have read parts of it. Murmur must have told him about the fictional character named Sherlock Holmes.

And now everything clicked into place, slowly, right in front of Dean's inner eyes.

This had always been too much Sherlock Holmes, as if it had been set up like a role play.

Murmur had taken the identity of Moriarty for a reason.

And Sherlock, smart Sherlock, cold Sherlock, had been the perfect detective, too perfect, except for one thing; showing emotions.

So, his soul was special? Sherlock had to make a decision?

 _Now_ , _after_ the Pandorica had been opened?

 _Now_ , that he _knew_ about the angels and the supernatural beings?

Of course, angel, they had to be a part of this, otherwise Murmur wouldn't have said that Castiel had known about it the first time he had seen Sherlock's soul.

"You said that Gabriel told you to hide inside the Pandorica to protect the amulet, right?" Dean asked loud into the room, his eyes not moving away from Murmur's smug grin.

Eleven, who of course knew that the question was directed at him, turned his head to look at Dean, nodding slightly. "Yes..."

Gabriel had known, then. Gabriel had known that his brothers would search for Sherlock, because why now, why was the detective so important to Murmur, now that the Pandorica had been opened...There had to be a correlation, Sherlock and the amulet...

"The amulet..." Sam mumbled, slowly. "Inside the amulet..."

Murmur's grin became wider.

Of course Sam would know. Of course Sam would understand.

"His soul, it never really was inside his body, right? Not...not all of it, at least..."

Murmur laughed out, his dark eyes bright with joy. "I am impressed...I was told that some of you are rather...dumb." Murmur's gaze drifted over the angry faces until his eyes stopped on the face of the Master. "Nice fellows you have there, Master. And you said it would be easy."

There was dead silence as everyone in the room turned to face the Master.

Discomfort was visible on the face of the Time Lord but was quickly replaced with arrogance and stubbornness. He said no word while he pursed his lips in a pouting manner.

"Master...?" Ten asked, and his voice was so broken that it made Dean flinch in sympathy. Those brown eyes were wide and dark and staring at the Master with disbelief. "What does-"

"Oh stop that pathetic _whining_!" The Master spat and slapped away the Doctor's hand, which had reached for his shoulder. "Did you honestly believe I would work together with _you_? After _all_ these _years_? Oh Doctor, Doctor, you are so naïve!"

There was hurt written all over the now pale face of the Doctor, his wide brown eyes full of pain caused by the betrayal of confidence. "But...why?" He asked, his voice almost a whisper. It was a honest question, as if the Doctor couldn't understand how the Master could do this to him.

"After all this time you still ask _why_?" The Master shook his head as he walked past Sam and Dean, both brothers too baffled to stop the Time Lord as he walked towards the blue boxes. "BECAUSE OF THIS!" The Master swirled around on his heels and pointed at the blue boxes.

The Face of the Doctor grew paler, his lips became an even thinner line and his big eyes filled with unshed tears of anger and disappointment.

"Of course..." He muttered, his shoulders slumping forward because all tension left his body, as if he had accepted the fact that the Master had betrayed them, had betrayed him. Once again. "Of course...Stupid me..." He chuckled dryly and without humor.

The Master's façade slipped for mere seconds, and there was something close to compassion to be seen on his face, his eyes almost sad.

"I should have known that you never change."

The Master's expression became stiff again, all sympathy leaving his eyes which were now cold and full of hatred. "Yes, you should have."

"How long?" It was Eleven who asked, his eyes wide but his expression calm, much much calmer than Ten's. Though his eyes gave him away, showing all the hurt he felt.

"From the beginning." Murmur snickered sinisterly. "You really thought he was in Hell? Really? You think he would still be like THIS after HELL? OHHH nooo, no! He came to me , you know? Calling for help because he was left alone, sucked up in white light...He called for help and I heard him! And OHHH, you know, I had a plan! And he desired the TARDIS, oh he did! Being able to fly through the Universe once more, oh he would love that! And so we agreed to work together, and we did! All he had to do was to lead you to the Pandorica so you-" Murmur pointed at Ten, who listened with wide, serious eyes. "- could open it! Because YOU were the key! The key to this precious soul!" Murmur smiled at Sherlock before he turned his head back to Ten. "And you believed him, every word, because he is your childhood friend, because you love him, you always did, and it was sooooo easy for him to fake it, so easy to lure you into the trap! And your future self, oooh, Eleven, you knew of nothing! How could you? Gabriel didn't tell you because he feared I could get you and the soul into my hands! So he stayed silent and locked you away!"

"The only way to open the Pandorica was through your own hand, but from outside! A safety lock! Ohhh, and Gabby thought I wouldn't know, he thought he was smart again with his stupid tricks!" He giggled. " And that wasn't all, right? I found your TARDIS, too! What a coincidence, it's almost funny, right?!" Murmur turned his head towards the Master, a bright smile on his lips. "I have to thank you, Master, it was a pleasure to work with you!"

There was an icy atmosphere in the hall. Both Doctors were quiet. It was Ten who looked hurt. Really hurt. His face was a mask of no emotion, but his eyes, his eyes were so full of pain, so dull with it, and the Master couldn't stand to look at him. He smiled, the Master, oh he did, he grinned like the dumb fucker that he was, but it was a forced smile, and Dean could see that every word that Murmur said about their work together made him flinch inwardly, as if he was ashamed of it, as if he was regretting it. However, he seemed to be too proud to admit it. And, there was no going back now. Not anymore.

"It's not too late..." Eleven began, hope filling his voice, and he looked young, younger than Dean had seen him before. There was a childlike flicker of hope lighting up his face. "...you could still-"

The Master snorted and turned away, rolling his eyes as he did so. "Why would I?" He asked, arrogance in every fibre of his being."For you? No way."

"Son of a bitch!" Dean hissed through clenched teeth. The Master only smiled coolly. There was no triumph to be seen in his eyes, though.

"This...This is really getting out of hand..." John mumbled. And damn he was right!

Murmur snickered again and stretched his neck. "Weeeeelllllllllll." He said, slowly. "I think it is time for the important things now." The fallen angel nodded with his chin towards Sherlock, licking his lips in excitement.

"What about me?" The Master asked furiously, behaving like a little child throwing a tantrum. "I mean, I did my job, right? So where is the damn **key**!?"

Murmur thoughtfully pressed his lips together and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. I don't have any key."

A shudder of anger rippled through the Master's body and his eyes turned towards Eleven, then towards Ten. "Of course!" He hissed.

 _Well, at least ONE advantage_ , Dean thought and couldn't hide the bitter grin that passed over his lips.

"Don't go near him." Sam told Ten with a serious voice, causing the Time Lord to roll his eyes because it was obvious that it was a very bad idea to go near the Master, especially if you had the key for the desired space ship in the pocket of your coat, and no matter how desperately the Doctor wished to be able to help his old friend, to somehow change his mind, he wouldn't take the risk to go near him, not now.

"What about you, now, Sherlock?" Murmur whispered, his stare intense and unblinking. "I am sure you have seen enough?" The fallen angel tilted his head. "Won't you make a decision now?"

Dean wished he could do something, but he knew he couldn't.

Murmur was just one angel, one fallen angel, and it should have been easy to defeat him. He was just an angel, not a god.

But, angels were sons of bitches, right?

And Murmur, that smart bastard, knew that they couldn't do anything; he stood near Sherlock, almost touching the shoulder of the detective with his own, and there was no way that they could hurt him, not like this, because one movement of Murmur's and the bullet would go through Sherlock's chest instead of Murmur's shoulder.

The Master was no threat; the fucking traitor was too busy minding his own business.

Dean turned his head to look at Castiel; the angel was quiet, nearly melting with the shadows and the wall behind his back, his watchful eyes fixed on Murmur. He was deep in thoughts, trying to figure out how to help Sherlock.

His eyes then turned to look at the tenth Doctor; the man had a serious look on his face, his brow slightly furrowed and his lips pressed together, his hands in the pockets of his coat. Dean couldn't tell what he was thinking, neither if he had an idea how to get out of this alive, and so the hunter turned to look at his brother.

Sam met Dean's gaze, but this time he was as clueless as Dean.

The only way to kill that fucker was to ram an angel blade into his body, or, through his vessel. That, however, was apparently not as easy as it could have been if Sherlock wasn't under Murmur's control.

"Sherlock..."John's voice was sounding lost, even if he tried to stay strong.

Sherlock's eyes began to focus on John, had been on John all the time, but now they seemed to see him. There was a sad smile on the lips of the detective as he threw the book to the wet ground. It was still raining, Dean noticed, through the big hole in the roof which he hadn't noticed before. The raindrops hitting the floor were a steady sound in the background.

"You don't really care for me, John, as sad as it is."

Dean was sure that John's eyes were wide with shock. "Why would you say that?!" The blonde man asked, and he was not only shocked but also _angry._ Of course was angry, who wouldn't be, after all they must have gone through... Dean could imagine that those words must have hurt, because someone you care for telling you that you don't care for them is something that always manages to throw you off the track.

"It's not your fault, John." Sherlock sighed. "The angels did it." Dean could almost feel Castiel flinching next to him.

"The...what?!" John's brow furrowed in confusion, his gaze searching for Castiel, who wouldn't meet John's lost stare.

"What does that mean?" John turned back to Sherlock, his hands balling into fists at his side. "Sherlock, tell me!"

Murmur snickered happily, his hands folded underneath his chin as he watched the scene in front of his eyes.

"I was told that I was created after a fictional character named Sherlock Holmes, and that the angels brainwashed everyone around me so you would form my soul into the role I was supposed to play..."

John snorted, shaking his head in anger. "Are you serious? It's what he told you, right?" John's eyes flickered to Murmur to give him an hateful glance. "Right?!"

Sherlock just nodded, unaffected by John's anger.

"Sherlock! He is Mo...He is Murmur! A fallen angel! Do you really believe him?! Of all people!?"

Sherlock didn't answer, and John rubbed his face with his hands, not believing that Sherlock would consider anything of this as true.

"That's what he wants! That's exactly what he wants!"

Dean nodded in agreement, a sincere look upon his face. "It's true, man! He's trying to get you on his side!"

Murmur blinked sheepishly. "Are you sure?"

No, of course they couldn't be sure. He was probably right, but they couldn't agree, not now, not when Sherlock was about to team up with Murmur because the fallen angel had told him the truth.

Sherlock, as smart as he was, knew that Murmur's words were the truth. He was clever enough to tell when people lied,and no matter how convincing Dean and the others tried to be, Sherlock would always see right through them.

The detective looked down at his hand, and Dean could see a glimpse of the amulet that Sherlock was holding in his closed fist.

"Sherlock, don't!" John begged. "Please, Sherlock, you're not in your right mind!"

Every normal human being would have considered to stop their action, now, after hearing their best friend shouting desperately at them to stop. John's voice was a desperate plea and even if Dean couldn't see his face, he was sure it was full of worry.

However, Sherlock was no ordinary human being, not right now at least, and that was why he continued to look at his fist without even noticing John's desperation. Murmur must have fucked up his mind pretty bad because this was not the Sherlock Holmes that Dean had come to know a few days ago.

"You don't know what you are saying..."Sherlock nearly mumbled, his eyes coming up to look at John again, his fingers toying with the amulet. He was still as emotional as a rock. "You don't say this, don't feel this, because you like me, you only try to stop me because it is what the angel want. That's what you were made for."

Dean huffed grimly. "Yeah,sure!" Sam raised his eyebrows, silently asking Dean what he was about to do, but Dean kept on going.

"You think he doesn't like you because he wants to? Because some angel bastard told him to like you? Well, might be that way, if that's what you want to believe, but look at yourself!"

Sherlock blinked, slowly, his brow furrowing.

"YOU are listening to him!" Dean pointed with his gun at Murmur, who didn't even flinch. The fallen angel had his head cocked, a small smug smile on his pursed lips.

"He is an angel, right? Fallen or not, who cares! And YOU believe him, every word he says! He turns you against your best friend and you don't even question his intentions!" Dean let out a deep breath of anger. "He manipulates you. So, yeah, great, now you're an angel bitch, too! But you can stop it! Right now! Just change your mind and stop this tantrum! And maybe then you and John can work out what all this shit about your soul - _together_! With _our_ help!"

John turned around to look at Dean with amazement in his wide eyes. Apparently he hadn't thought that Dean could utter something like this. The army doctor gave the hunter a short nod, a sign that he was grateful for the words that had been said, before he turned back to face the detective once again.

"He is right, Sherlock! I..I can't guarantee that Murmur's words aren't true, but I can guarantee that I will always be your friend, that I want to be your friend, and it doesn't matter if I have been told to or if I want to, because in the end we are still friends, and the time with you, all those stupid and murderous cases, have been one of the best time in my life!"

John took a deep breath and straightened his back, his head held high as he said. "We are friends, Sherlock! And I _don't care_ if it was written by angels, or not."

A small smile flashed over Sherlock's lips, and Dean had the feeling that his stare became softer, almost as if the ice that Murmur had created around his heart had been melted away by the words that he had heard. Not the words from Dean but the one from his one and only true friend, John Watson, had cleared his senses enough to doubt Murmur's words.

"Very very nice!" Murmur took a step closer towards Sherlock. "But I think Sherlock now _knows_ what is right and what is wrong."

Dean could hear the sudden flapping of wings and a faint gust of wind danced over his skin. Dean's eyes turned to his side, only to see ...nothing. Cas had disappeared from his spot next to the wall.

"Where the hell..." Dean mumbled, but Sam's sudden gasp answered his question.

Castiel had appeared behind Murmur, his angel blade in his hand, ready to ram the weapon through the slender body of the fallen one, his blazing eyes like blue fire in the shadows of his pale face. He must have waited for this moment of distraction, where Murmur was too busy with trying to get a hold on Sherlock.

Maybe he could have managed it.

Maybe, if he had been faster.

But Murmur was faster, spinning around in one swift movement before Castiel was able to raise his blade high enough, grabbing the younger angel by his throat with so much force that Castiel began to choke. The silver blade dropped to the floor as Castiel raised his hands to his neck, trying to loosen the fingers around his throat.

"Cas!" Dean didn't even think twice; his body moved on its own accord as he jumped towards Murmur. "Let go of him you son ofurgha-" Dean stopped in his tracks, his free hand flying to his throat as the air was being squeezed out of it.

There was a tension in the hall that made it clear that Murmur was the one in charge.

An atmosphere of evil seemed to loom over them, circling them while waiting to strike at the right moment. It was as if Murmur's hellish army of ghosts and demons was lurking in the shadows, unseen by the human eye. At least that would explain the shudder that ran through Dean's body as his wide eyes looked into the shadows behind Murmur. He was sure he could see something floating in the darkness behind the fallen angel and Castiel, but maybe that was his imagination and the lack of air.

"You are funny." Murmur tilted his head as he watched Dean, who was frantically trying to get air in his lungs, the fallen angel's hand still around Castiel's throat. Castiel's face was a mask of pain, though that was probably because of the fingers around his throat which nearly pierced through the soft skin rather than not being able to breathe. Angels didn't need to breathe.

"Dean!" Sam's body twitched but he didn't move, knowing all too well that Murmur would stop him if he dared to go near Dean. Black spots began to dance in front of Dean's eyes and his throat felt dry, his lungs burning painfully due the lack of air.

"Please!" It was Eleven who had raised his voice, begging Murmur to stop. "We can talk about thi-"

The Master, who had been too quiet the entire time - he had probably enjoying the show -, snorted in amusement. "No, don't stop! I want to see them-" He pointed at Eleven, then at Ten" - begging on their knees first!"

Both Doctors hissed in anger, but Dean couldn't tell what happened afterwards because his vision fully blackened and he felt his head getting lighter and lighter, until his knees hit the wet ground.

He gasped in shock, now on his hands and knees, and his eyes were wide as he gulped for air. His lungs almost screamed in joy as he filled them with new oxygen. God, his head did hurt!

The hunter raised his gaze just in time to see Murmur throwing Castiel to the ground, a few feet away from the blue boxes. The angel choked and stayed on the ground, his long fingers wrapped around his throat as he gave Murmur a hateful glance. "Stop looking at me like that. You should be glad that I didn't kill you." Murmur rolled his eyes.

Dean's urge to kill that bastard was strong, and his hand already fumbled over the wet floor in search for the gun. "I would stop that if I were you." The Master, who was now dangerously close to Dean, grinned his wicked grin. The Time Lord had no weapon in his hand, but Dean didn't doubt that he was strong enough to fight without one.

"Damn it!" He muttered under his breath, his eyes searching for Sam's; his brother had his lips pressed together into a thin line and his shotgun was lowered. A strand of his long hair was hanging into his right eye, but Sam didn't bother to smooth it behind his ear. The younger hunter had his eyes fixed on Murmur, but Dean was sure that he was well aware of Dean's quick side glance towards him.

"You shouldn't try to upset me." Murmur warned. He was completely calm but his voice held a sharp edge to it, cutting through the air like a knife. "Because, riiiight at the moment, I am the one in control."

There was a cough to be heard, and every head in the room turned towards Sherlock; the detective stood tall and straight, his left hands balled into a fist while his right hand clutched the handle of Castiel's angel blade.

His face was grim and a small sardonic smile played on his lips. "Are you sure?"

His voice was steady now, stronger, and his eyes seemed to be alive again, almost as if someone had switched the lights back on.

Murmur's shoulders tensed up and his gaze darkened. "You wouldn't dare, Sherlock." Murmur was deadly serious. Dean could feel the anger of the fallen angel and it made him shudder. Damn, this wouldn't end good.

John, however, had gathered new courage because finally Sherlock seemed to be himself again. There was new hope, or so the army doctor believed.

"I would." replied Sherlock without fear,standing his ground.

Murmur stared at him for mere minutes, then he sighed, almost as if he was disappointed in Sherlock. He probably was; after all he had tried to pull Sherlock on his side. The fallen angel's patience, however, was short-lived, his temper changing faster than the weather.

In the end, everything happened really fast and without a warning.

Murmur and the Master both moved at the same time.

Murmur jumped towards Sherlock, his hand outstretched to slap away the angel blade. Dean could see Sherlock raising the silver blade, ready to strike, but then he heard the surprised shriek of Eleven.

Dean's head turned around just in time to see the Master shoving the startled Eleven to the ground, his hand in the pocket of the tweed jacket.

Of course!

_The key!_

A shout from behind him and Dean turned around; Sam was yelling something like, "Doctor no!", as Ten ran after the Master, who was running towards the telephone boxes. Ten's long legs easily carried him across the floor and soon he was at the same height with the Master.

"Sherlock !"

Dean's head spun around, his eyes wide because he was too overwhelmed by the situation. He should have moved a long time ago.

_Damn!_

"Dean!" Sam grabbed him by his arm, pulling him up to his feet. His gun was pushed into his hand. "We have to stop them, now!"

Yeah, right!

They turned around, their guns in their hands, ready to help Sherlock.

It was too late, though.

First Dean thought Sherlock had made it; the silver blade was buried deep inside Murmur's shoulder, the fallen angel flinching in pain as his rotten grace began to seep out his body, and Sherlock's lips were curled into a bitter smile. He raised his eyes to meet John's gaze; the army doctor was pale but relieved that Sherlock was alive.

Dean was about to lower his gun as a sudden movement caught his eye; Murmur's hand shot up, his fingers grabbing Sherlock's wrist and twisting it around. The detective flinched in pain, letting go of the blade - and the amulet, which he had been holding in his fist.

The piece of jewelry fell to the ground, and it seemed to fall in slow motion, as if everything began to slow down just to watch it fall to the ground. There was a barely audible thud as it hit the ground and broke.

Dean could remember Murmur's triumphant smile and Sherlock's shocked wide eyes before white light lit up the room and swallowed them all.


	15. A change of events

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a lot of things happen at the same time...

**Chapter 14**

The explosion of white light swallowed them all.

Castiel's eyes were wide and unblinking as he stared into the center of the explosion. He knew the Grace of his brothers well. They were the same in the core, but yet every Grace was different. This was not Murmur's Grace that filled the room, no, not completely his, because Murmur's Grace wasn't pure anymore, not the bluish white it should have been. It was more a blackish red, tainted by the claws of Hell.

This white Grace had been inside the amulet, hidden beneath the layer of soul. Even Castiel and Murmur hadn't been able to sense it. It was white and pure and old, absorbing the rotten Grace of the fallen angel as if it was nothing more than the shadows of the hall.

However, the Grace and its light disappeared as fast as they had appeared, and soon the hall was dark again, covered by the layer of grayish shadows. The dim bluish light of the night that shone through the hole in the roof was the only source of light since Murmur's light had disappeared with him and his Grace.

Murmur was lying on the ground, the eyes of his vessel wide while an insane grin was frozen on his lips. His eyes were dead, and so was the soul inside the vessel. This was only an empty body now, without an angel or a soul within it. Dead.

Those eyes were brown now, not that inky black they had been when Murmur had possessed the body of the poor man named Richard Brook.

A pool of blood had formed underneath the body, staining the expensive suit and the floor. The red was a sharp contrast against the grayish floor. It almost looked beautiful as it ran over the wings that had been burned into the ground. Like a painting.

Castiel took several steps towards the body, his eyes never leaving the grayish white face. "I am sorry." He said, and he really was. It always did hurt when a brother died. It was as if a part of your own Grace was ripped out of you. It went like a bush fire through every fibre of your being, and every angel immediately knew when another angel had died. You couldn't miss the sharp pain that went through your whole body when a brother of yours had died. It was one of the worst feelings, and yet you could barely see the emotions on any face of the angels, not on their human vessels, at least. Their real form always cried if they experienced the death of another brother.

The angels always mourned their brothers, no matter who it was, because they were something like a family after all, but usually it was really quiet when they did it.

Now was no difference. Castiel could feel them, his brothers, mourning the death of their fallen brother, but none of them raised his voice loud enough to be heard. It was like a whisper in the back of Castiel's head, but none of the voices grew louder than it should. It wasn't common to weep loudly.

"What a shame." Lucifer stood next to the dead body, his eyes wandering over the wing marks on the ground, sadness in his eyes. He was sad, too, he always was. He did care, even if he hated most of his brothers for their behavior.

"Don't!" Castiel's head jerked to the right. Of course, the death of his brother had temporary dulled his other senses and so he had forgotten about the Doctor and the Master, even about the others who were lying curled together on the floor, their eyes tightly shut and their hands pressed against their ears. Though, they opened their eyes now, now that the light was gone. Now, that Ten yelled at the top of his lungs.

The Master had grabbed Ten by his skinny wrist, yanking him towards one of the blue telephone boxes. They were arguing, loudly, but to Castiel's surprise he couldn't understand a word. He could hear the different tones and the anger in the voice, yes, he could read their expressions like open books, but no, he couldn't understand what they said. Angels did speak every language, so why not this one? It surprised Castiel, and even Lucifer raised his eyebrows. Though, he tilted his head, seemingly understanding what was going on.

"Cas!" Dean yelled, pointing at the two Time Lords. "Do somethin', damn it!" Castiel blinked, then it hit him; of course, they wouldn't be fast enough to catch the Master, but Castiel could try. He was fast. He had wings.

With one swift movement he opened his wings, flying through the different planes and layers of the atmosphere which were unseen by the human eye, until he was directly behind the Master. It took him less than a second.

The Time Lord, however, must have sensed the movement of his wings through the planes. Maybe Time Lords were capable to sense supernatural beings when they approached them, maybe it was just a sixth sense or the ability to see the wings.

Whatever it was, the Master was prepared as Castiel appeared behind him.

The kick to his chest took Castiel by surprise, hurling him backwards. However, he was fast enough to regain balance by spreading his wings and within mere seconds he was in front of the Master, who was about to open the TARDIS with the key.

With one simple thought the angel blade materialized in Castiel's hand, ready to stop the Master, but the Time Lord simply dodged the attack and punched the angel in the face - hard.

Castiel was sure he heard something break and his nose did hurt quite a lot. There was warm blood running over his lips and down his chin.

The angel stumbled backwards and the Master used the time to kick his legs away underneath his body, causing Castiel to fall backwards onto the ground.

Lucifer was snickering. Ten yelled something in the languages that Castiel couldn't understand. Steps were to be heard. The others were running towards the telephone box.

Castiel struggled to his feet, ignoring his bleeding nose. He tightened his grip around the handle of his blade, the metal cool against his skin, and lunged forward.

Ten was yanked forward, directly into the target line, and Castiel had to stop by violently jerking his arm backward so he wouldn't pierce through the wrong man.

A shot was heard, probably one of the Winchesters aiming for the Master, but the Master swirled around, causing Ten to stumble after him because the Master was still clutching his wrist. It was Ten who hissed in pain as the bullet brushed past his left shoulder.

Castiel hurtled forward, ready to grab Ten by the arm so they could both fly to a safer place, somewhere Castiel could heal the Time Lord, but a harsh blow to his side made him go into a spin to the side, sending him flying over the floor until he hit the wall with his back.

Dean was yelling. Sam was yelling , too.

Everything was a bright chaos and Castiel furrowed his brow more in confusion than in pain because what in Heaven's name was going on?

Dean was running towards the Master and Ten, his gun in his hand but not aiming. Eleven stood straight and still like a pillar, his eyes wide but unseeing. He wasn't really here now.

John,on the other hand,was here, his wide eyes searching, searching for someone, searching for Sherlock. But Sherlock was gone. There was no Sherlock anymore. Sam yelled, his hands balled into fists. Dean didn't listen, and that was why the Master easily sidestepped the blow of the hunter's fist, kicking Dean into the stomach instead. Dean was groaning, Castiel was angry, and Ten was pale. The poor Time Lord was yanked around by the blonde maniac, blood spilling in a rush over the hand that he had pressed against the wound.

The Master was using Ten as a shield now, hiding behind the skinny body as he slung his arm over the throat and around Ten's neck so that he could easily strangle the other Time Lord, if he needed to.

"I'll snap his neck!" The Master hissed, his free hand fumbling with the key to the telephone box that stood to his right. "I swear I'll fucking snap his neck if you try to shoot me again!"

Dean gave the Master an angry glare as he stumbled back on his feet, his arm slung around his aching stomach. "Son of a bitch!" The green eyed hunter growled but the Master just smiled cooly. "I love you too, but I really need to go now so shut-the-fuck-up!"

Castiel managed to get back on his feet, swaying slightly as he tried to regain his balance.

"I wouldn't try to attack him again." Castiel flinched as Lucifer appeared at his side, eyeing the Master with a bored expression on his face. "He'll only kick your pretty ass again. Orrrr..." Lucifer rolled his head around until his eyes met Castiel's. "Do you want to play the hero again? Because last time it worked sooo welllll." Castiel clenched his jaw but turned his gaze back towards the Master, who now opened the door with the key.

Ten began to struggle, trying to break free, but the Master only tightened his arm around the other Time Lord's neck until Ten was choking and gasping for air.

"Stop fighting me!" The blonde Time Lord snarled, barely hearable for the others in the hall, but Castiel could hear the warning very well. Ten tensed up, his pale face drawn into a pained grimace before he stopped struggling against the grip around his neck.

Everyone in the hall was frozen on the spot as the Master walked backwards into the telephone box, everyone holding their breath, waiting for the blonde man to release Ten. But, the Master didn't release Ten; instead he pulled him backwards into the telephone box. The door closed before anyone could move.

"Damn!" Dean cursed, his fist hammering against the blue wood. "Hey! EY! Open the door, you fucker!" Sam was now at Dean's side, a worried look upon his face. "It won't open!" Dean kicked the box, but nothing happened.

"Cas!" The hunter turned around, flinching as he found Castiel directly in front of himself. "You can open that thing,right?"

Castiel took a deep breath and shook his head. No.

Dean's brow furrowed while his eyes widened slightly, giving him a rather funny expression. "And why the fuck not?!"

Castiel only sighed again, opening his mouth to tell Dean that this wasn't a normal telephone box, that there were shields and locks, but a weird sound interrupted him.

"What the-" Dean's eyes widened in surprise as the wood underneath his palm began to vanish. "Whoa, whoa! What the HELL is going on here!"

A surge of energy went through the air, Castiel could feel it but he doubted that one of the humans was able to feel it since it went through a plane that was invisible to the human eye. It was like a small electric shock. Castiel's eyes were fixed on the spot where the TARDIS seemingly vanished but Castiel could SEE that it opened a rift in time and space. Strands of golden energy made of time itself slung around the box, pulling it into the vortex of time and space until the blue telephone box was completly pulled through the rift. The rift was only open for mere seconds but it was enough to irritate the space-time continuum. Just a small shift, enough to change the course of events.

"What...what happened? Why is it gone? Where is it gone?" Dean blinked in confusion, his head jerking around to find the blue box somewhere in the hall. But of course it was gone.

"It's gone, Dean!" Sam said, almost casually, as he furrowed his brow.

"Yeah, m' kinda able to SEE that it's gone, thanks!" Dean grumbled as he turned around to face the Doctor. "Hey, Doc! Where the Hell did your blue box go?!"

Dean expected the Doctor to answer his question, but the Time Lord stood still, his eyes wide and unseeing.

Castiel saw it, everything. The past and future of the Time Lord shifting around, visible in his wide green eyes like fragments of a movie being played on two screens, backwards and forwards, fast and slow. He was bound to time, to time and space, and something must have happened, something bad, and now his life began to rewrite itself from one point.

The gear wheels of his soul began to falter, began to stop, slowly turning backwards. For now it were only two, but Castiel had the feeling that more and more of the clockwork and its gear wheels would change their direction, turning back the time of the body and the soul. Castiel didn't know what would happen if the Doctor's time was turned back, but he assumed that the body would change back to his former self, to the soul it had been once. In this case, Ten.

Something was very wrong here. Castiel could see _and_ feel it.

"Hey!" Dean snapped his fingers in front of Eleven's face, annoyed that the Time Lord seemingly ignored him, but slowly he began to realize that maybe there was something not quite as right as it seemed. "Hey..." Dean leaned forward, slowly, his eyes questioning as he tried to find the Doctor's gaze. Worry began to show on his features.

Suddenly the Doctor blinked, confused, almost as if he didn't know where he was. "Oh that...that was certainly not good."

He was talking about his past-self being kidnapped.

"Yeah,well..." Sam scratched the back of his head as his eyes found the dead body of Murmur's vessel. "A few things didn't work out that well..."

"We have to go!"

Dean and Sam flinched at the loud voice of the Doctor, who now jumped towards the remaining telephone box. It was Ten's Tardis, the one in dark blue made of old wood.

"We have to follow him! We have to stop him! Not good, oh, not not good, really not good!" The Doctor mumbled and Castiel was sure he heard him curse in his native language as he searched for the key inside the pockets of his tweed jacket.

"What?!" The Winchesters asked with one voice. "How!?"

The Doctor groaned and rolled his eyes, waving both of them off with one hand. "Not _now_! Later, later I'll tell you! But for now we _actually_ have to _leave_ because if we don't _leave_ _soon_ bad things will happen, and yes I _know_ , a lot of bad things happened _already_ but we have to prevent things from getting even _badder_." He paused. " _Worse_ " He corrected himself and trailed off because he finally found his key. His spare key since his other key had been stolen by the Master.

"Hurry up!" The Time Lord said, one foot already in the box.

"Whoa whoa! Hold your horses, man!" Dean raised his hands. Castiel was about to point out that there where no horses to be seen but then he realized that this was probably one of the human idiomatic expressions that Dean liked to use. "We won't fit in that ...thing!"

The Doctor rolled his eyes again." Just move!" He urged. His voice was demanding, not near as calm as it had been hours ago.

Sam was about to open his mouth when John began to speak. "Are you serious?! All of you!?"

Heads turned to look at the army doctor. The eyes of the man were blazing with anger and sadness and he looked at them with a mixture of disbelief and dislike on his face. " SHERLOCK is GONE! He is probably DEAD and all you do is...this?!"

"Hey hey!" Dean shook his head. "We're tryin' to do somethin', kay? But what exactly are we supposed to do, heh? "

Sam widened his eyes and shook his head as he looked at Dean with the same disbelief on his face as John. "Dean! His best friend just vanished!"

Dean shrugged his shoulders "Well,that happens sometimes..." It was a half-hearted attempt to make a joke.

"In our case, yes." Was Sam's dry reply.

"Oh c'mon!"

"I thought you of all people would understand him, Dean." Sam's eyes were serious and knowing. Dean clenched his jaw and his gaze flickered to the side to meet Castiel's. Of course he did.

"Guuuuyyys!" The Doctor urged.

"Sorry." John rubbed his face with his hands, taking a few steps backwards. "Alright just...leave...That's totally okay...totally fine."

"Oh noe!" The Doctor jumped up and down. "You have to come with us , John!"

John laughed, but it was a bitter and sad laughter. His eyes were dark and almost lifeless. "Sorry- " His voice was deadpan. "- but my best friend just died. I don't think I am going anywhere but home."

"There is no proof that he is dead." Sam tried, his voice sympathetic and soothing, trying to comfort the army doctor. "Maybe he is just..." The younger Winchester searched for the right word. "Somewhere else..."

John said nothing.

Lucifer snickered, his eyes gleaming in amusement.

"Please, you shouldn't be alone right now." The Doctor gave John a sad smile but John only looked away, too consumed by his sadness. "Come with us."

John looked up, pain in his eyes. "Only to see someone else dying? One of the reasons I was glad to be back in England was that I had to see none of my friends dying in front of my eyes, and now this!"

John's shoulders tensed up. Castiel could see the unshed tears.

"I am really sorry." The Doctor began, his green eyes utterly sad. "I am so-"

"It's not your fault." John said, this time his voice tight with emotion. "Just...Just leave me alone for a while."

Dean and Sam exchanged a quick glance, and Dean raised his eyebrow in surprise. Castiel had always admired the Winchester's ability of being able to speak without using words.

"Well, he's right." Sam took a step forwards towards John. "You shouldn't be alone right now."

"Sam." Dean's voice was low, almost like a warning, but Sam continued. "I know how it feels when a friend of yours dies. And I know that you don't want to _be_ alone in that time, because that sucks. So ..."Sam shrugged his shoulders. "I think it is the best if I'll stay with you until they are back from their journey." He nodded towards the Doctor.

John sighed, and there was even an attempt to smile. However, it ended in a sad grimace. "You don't have to. I have my family to talk to..." He didn't sound very convinced.

"Yeah, but Sherlock's not dead, not until we can be sure. And I know how it feels when you don't know what happened to a friend."

_Or, brother._

"So I think it's the best if you have someone to talk to who knows a few things about people suddenly disappearing."

John didn't agree but he also said no word against Sam's decision.

Dean,though, was everything else than happy about the decision that his younger brother had made. "Dude!" He took his brother by the arm, yanking him to the side to talk to him.

The brothers talked in hushed voices, and Castiel couldn't tell what they were saying because Lucifer had decided it would be fun to sing 'I believe I can fly', a song that Castiel had never heard of before. It was a really annoying song.

"Did I mention that we can travel through _time_ and space?" The Doctor casually asked, causing everyone to look at him.

"And you're just sayin' that now?!"

The Doctor raised his hands in defense. "Sorry, I thought the name of my ship was kind of giving it away."

Dean and Sam exchanged another quick glance, and finally Dean sighed in defeat. "Just make sure you're in that damn flat when we're back."

"Oh, we'll be back in no time, I promise!" The Doctor beamed. It almost seemed as if he had forgotten the cause of their journey. "Now hurry, hurry!" He rushed to Dean's and Castiel's sides, grabbing their arms to pull them towards the phone box.

"We'll be back! And everything will be okay again, I promise!" He said, looking over his shoulder at John, whose face looked as if it was made out of stone. "I promise!" The Doctor said, again, and his voice was serious this time.

"Don't get killed, Sammy!" Dean shouted before he was pushed inside the phone box, closely followed by Castiel and the Doctor.

The inside was not what Castiel had expected. Usually, telephone boxes had a limited space but this...this was something else. Well, then again, this was not a real telephone box. Castiel could feel the strange energy humming underneath his feet and all around him. This was not just a thing, not just a space ship. This was a living thing. It had a soul, a warm and soft soul that lightened up the whole ship.

Castiel was sure he could hear whispering and soft laughter.

Lucifer was oddly quiet, and as Castiel turned around he realized that there was no Lucifer around. Relief washed over Castiel and the angel allowed himself to relax. He was sure Lucifer's absence was only short-lived but right now Castiel couldn't care less.

The Doctor grinned from ear to ear as he walked with long strides towards the big console in the middle of the room. It was a big room with golden walls that were made of an iron that wasn't known on earth. The console was glowing in a faint bluish light and was equipped with all sorts of controllers and buttons. There was also a huge tube in the center of the console which was leading towards the roof.

"DUDE, this is like in those freaking Harry Potter movies!" Dean gasped, his eyes wide.

"I know!" The whole face of the Doctor lit up immediately. "But better! A bit...Oh,I loved the books! I cried at the end!" He gave Dean a questioning glance, as if he was expecting the same answer from him.

Dean, however, was too busy with observing the big control room and the console. "Yeah, really sad..." It was obvious that he was not such a big fan of the so called 'Harry Potter' series as the Doctor was, who now seemed a bit disappointed. However, his disappointment was quickly replaced by a wistful smile. The Time Lord strolled along the platform, his eyes wandering around. "It has been a long time..." He mumbled to himself.

"It's such a long time that I've been in this control room..." The Doctor sighed and stopped in front of the console.

"What do you mea-" Dean began but shut his mouth as a jerk went through the TARDIS. "What was that?!" There was panic in Dean's voice and his eyes darted around.

The Doctor, who was currently busy with pushing buttons and pulling handles, just shrugged his shoulders as he answered, "Oh, we just entered the vortex."

The Time Lord said that as casually as if it was the most normal thing to do. It was, for him, but Dean was a little bit afraid, or so it seemed. He had never liked flying, Castiel could remember that.

"Wow, great...And how long will it take for us to arrive...wherever we have to arrive?"

The Doctor stopped in his tracks, his brow furrowed has he rocked his head from side to side. "I...I don't quite know that...It depends."

Dean's eyebrows rose in disbelief. "What?! This is your freakin' ship man, you have to know how long it'll take for us to find the Master and...and past-you!"

"It is not that easy..." The Doctor mumbled as he flipped a blue switch. "I don't know where to go...yet. My memories are...not in order ...yet."

Dean only continued to stare at the Doctor with the look of utter lack of understanding.

"What? Does that mean we're just flying through space till you remember...things? From your past? That actually didn't even happen yet because you are from the future?"

The Doctor just nodded quietly but didn't meet Dean's searching eyes. Instead he played around with the console.

"Oh, great!" Dean rubbed his hand over his face, trying to stay calm. This situation was probably very upsetting for him. Castiel wondered why.

"It's okay, Dean." The angel said as he eyed the human hunter to his right. "The Doctor said we can travel through time and space, so there should be no problem."

Dean turned around to look at Castiel. "And?" He snapped. "That doesn't mean we have all the time of the world, right?"

The Doctor rubbed his neck in embarrassment. "I am sorry...I'll try to remember anything. "

Castiel met Dean's gaze, and for one moment or two they stared at each other without even blinking. Dean's eyes were very green. "I do not understand why you are so angry about this, Dean." The angel admitted, not breaking the starring contest. "It is the life of the Doctor that is in danger, not yours or Sam's."

Dean huffed, his eyes still not looking away from Castiel's. "Maybe it is because I am _human_ , Cas. Because _I_ don't have friggin' time to fly through the universe all of my life!"

Because that would mean he would never see his brother again, and that was his biggest fear. He didn't want to lose Sam.

"It won't be that long." The Doctor said hastily. "I promise, Give me a night or two and I'll remember. It just, you know, takes some time to remember something that did happen in your past but didn't happen yet...uhm...yes...It's a little bit complicated."

Dean nodded slowly, understanding the point. His eyes lost the hard edge and he sighed. "I know. Sorry, I'm just...Yeah, it's just a bit too much."

The Doctor hummed in agreement, his hands toying around with the switches of the console. "Well, there is a bedroom, are bedroom _s_ , just down the hallway. If you're tired you can take a nap. Or sleep. Or...read...do..whatever you want..." The Doctor trailed off, his brow slightly furrowed at his own words. "Whatever. I need to patch up this old lady, so ...You are free to explore the rooms."

"That is a good idea." Castiel answered, giving Dean a glance before he walked towards the entrance that was leading to the left hallway. The hunter stood still for mere seconds before he decided to follow the angel.

They were both quiet during their walk down the small hallway. There was no noise to be heard, only the Doctor who spoke to himself, or to his ship, and the soft humming of the ship itself. Only sometimes there was soft giggling to be heard.

Dean stopped at the next best door, opening it without hesitation.

"Wow, well, that I call a bedroom." The Winchester whistled and stepped into the big room which looked as if it had been taken out of a fairytale castle.

Castiel could see the amazement on Dean's face, his wide eyes scanning the room with disbelief in them.

There was a red carpet on the floor and golden ornaments embellished the red wall. Castiel was sure that those carefully elaborated ornaments were actually letters of the Doctor's native language but he couldn't understand the meaning of the circles. That was why his gaze began to drift away from the circles on the wall and over the room.

A big double bed with golden frame and red velvet sheets was placed at the end of the room, next to a wardrobe and a desk with a chair. At the left wall were two very comfortable looking armchairs, red in color. "Even a fridge..." Dean mumbled, and Cas noticed the small white fridge in the right corner of the room. In fact, the room had everything, from green plants next to the door to a bookshelf next to the white wardrobe.

Castiel especially liked the pictures on the wall which were showing a world that he had never seen; a world with two suns and silver trees and meadows that looked like a sea of fire in the golden light of the two suns. The only thing that was missing in the room were windows.

"This is like a fucking honeymoon suite!"

From somewhere a faint giggling was to be heard, echoing through the room. Castiel was now sure that it was the ship that was mocking them. At least it had fun.

Lucifer, on the other hand, was still nowhere to be seen.

However, Castiel doubted that this was a good sign.

"We can look for another room, if you would prefer to sleep in a less impressive one." Castiel suggested.

Dean gave the angel a side glance, mumbling something and waved off. "Nah..." He rolled his eyes. "I don't wanna walk around this ship all day. I guess this one...is..." he trailed off and gave the velvet blankets a weird look. "...okay for the night...Day...Or whatever the fuck it is right now."

Castiel,of course, could have told Dean that it was 'nothing' right now, because they were floating through time and space so there was no day and no night but the angel kept quiet and watched the hunter, who had his eyes everywhere but on Castiel.

"Do you want me to leave you alone?" Castiel asked bluntly because that was what he always did.

Dean's eyes darted to the side to look at the angel.

"No." He sighed. "No, it's alright if you stay, as long as you don't watch me sleepin' because that's fucking creepy."

Castiel couldn't help but smile slightly. Dean grinned in return, his green eyes brightening with joy.

"Well, but I assume I have to sleep somewhere." Castiel pointed out, looking at his hands before he looked back up into Dean's eyes . "So it would be a good idea to search for another bedroom."

Needing to sleep was still something he was not used to, and usually he really didn't need to sleep a lot, but just in case...

Dean grunted but grinned, winking at the angel. "Well, we have _one big_ bed here, right?"

Castiel almost rolled his eyes at the answer because of course Dean Winchester would say that. "Yes, Dean, I know, but I assume you do not want to sleep in the same bed with me." Because, really, why would he?

There was genuine surprise written all over Dean's face as he raised his eyebrows. "Why wouldn't I?" He asked, and it was a honest question. He seemed to have forgotten that he and Castiel had a rather broken relationship, and yes, Castiel was an angel and yes, his vessel was a male, and no, usually you don't sleep in the same bed with your best friend if there is another bed somewhere around.

Usually.

"Well..."Castiel began, slowly. "Because my vessel happens to be a male and I assume that you rather share your bed with women..." He paused, furrowing his brow. "Or with your brother...If there is no other option."

Dean snorted and for a split second he almost seemed annoyed. "Oh, really, Cas! We're not ..." He paused, almost reddening as he realized what he just had offered his best friend."Damn, we're not going to _do_ anythin'! Just lyin' next to each other!" But it seemed that the hunter realized that this was a really awkward situation and yes, usually you sleep in separated beds and no usually you don't look at your best friend like this and-

Why did Castiel's heart began to speed up by the mere thought of being near Dean, just being near him, lying next to him while he was asleep...

Of course Castiel knew why.

_I should go and search for another room, Dean._

That was what he had intended to say.

But the took a step forward instead, right into Dean's personal space.

The hunter didn't move away.

The atmosphere was crackling with a different kind of energy, and Castiel could not say if it was a thing between him and Dean or if it was something _else_.

Whatever it was, it pulled him closer to the hunter, closer and closer until he stood so close that he could count every freckle on Dean's skin, even in the orange light of the room.

"Would you mind, lying this close to me?"

"That _is_ really close..." Dean began after a few minutes of silence. His eyes darted down to Castiel's mouth.

"I know." Castiel said, not caring at all that he had invaded the personal space of the hunter once again because why should he care when Dean didn't care at all?

"Would you mind?"

He was mesmerized by those green eyes, he always was, because they showed so much of who Dean was. They showed everything, and Castiel could see it, Dean's soul, right in those eyes, bright and beautiful like a star in the sky. Perfection.

"Would you mind, Dean?"

Dean was staring at him, into his eyes, and he wasn't looking away. He was just staring. Right into his eyes. And the angel wondered what the human could see in those eyes of his vessel, those eyes which were a mere wall of biological tissue between Castiel's true form and the world outside. Dean was only human, and his eye couldn't see _behind_ those eyes, behind the wall. All he could see was blue, endless blue, and Castiel wondered if Dean was fascinated by what he saw or by what he thought he could see in those eyes that weren't Castiel's but yet they were.

Maybe it was instinct, maybe it was an accident, maybe it wasn't, but they both leaned forward, at the same time, and it felt so very very right, and Castiel was sure he never had felt so sure about a thing as their lips finally met.

It was soft. And just a brief kiss. Nothing special. Nothing great. Their lips barely met at all. It was more a ghost of a kiss, a whisper, but it was enough. And it was really clumsy for a kiss, but then again, Castiel had never really kissed anyone, not while being himself, because no, Meg didn't count. Not really.

It could have been perfect, maybe, and Castiel almost closed his wide eyes, but then Dean began to stumble backwards, his eyes even wider than before, shock visible in every fibre of his being while he tried to process what just had happened.

"What the HELL, dude!" He was upset, not as upset as he was when something on a hunt had gone wrong, more the upset when he was hurt, emotionally, and Castiel didn't know why, why would Dean be angry?

"Why are you angry?" He couldn't help asking, it just blurted out of him, a baffled question because the angel couldn't understand why the hunter would be angry about a kiss that had barely happened.

"I...You just fucking _kissed_ me, okay!" Dean nearly yelled, running his hand through his hair as he began to walk up and down in front of Castiel. His hand was shaking.

"First you...you friggin' _complain_ about sleeping in one bed with me and then you're kissing me? Sorry, but...I think I need to _think_ about what just happened because usually _you don't kiss your best friend_ , okay?"

He spun around on his heels, not quite facing Castiel. "Humans don't do that,okay? Maybe angels do, but humans don't!"

"I am sorry..."Castiel began, his brow furrowed, trying not to show that yes, actually he was hurt by what Dean had just said. "But I thought you would like to kiss me."

"The... _What_?!" Dean now turned around, fully facing Castiel, disbelief in his eyes. "Why the Hell would you think that, Cas, eh?!"

He didn't know.

There had been this feeling.

Something that had told him that this was right.

He must have been fooled.

Lucifer, for sure.

This had been a stupid mistake.

He should have known.

Of course.

"I am sorry." The angel said, his voice grave but not small. "It will not happen again. I understand."

He was hurt, yes. And of course Dean did notice. The Hunter's eyes softened and he sighed, shakily, as he shook his head. "Cas, damn you don't _do_ that..."

Castiel nodded solemnly. "I do understand, Dean, that you feel uncomfortable."

Dean blinked, opening his mouth, but Castiel continued to talk. "I think it will be the best for us to sleep in separated rooms."

And Dean closed his mouth, his brow furrowed in an almost desperate way, but he said nothing. His eyes dropped to the floor.

Castiel said nothing, too, because what else was he supposed to say now? That he felt this sting in his heart when he looked at Dean now and that he was sorry because , really, he didn't know what had happened it just had happened and please Dean don't be angry?

That was when he spread his wings, vanishing from Dean's sight. Dean, who opened his mouth just mere seconds after Castiel was gone.

And again the angel was fleeing when emotions became too much to handle, because how could you handle human emotion when you had no idea how to do it?

The best way to cope with those emotions was to hide far away from Dean until the emotions were settled and the atmosphere was cooled down.

And Dean, of course, was too stubborn to admit that maybe he wasn't feeling as uncomfortable as Castiel thought. That, maybe, maybe he had known for quite a while that he had feelings for the angel.

In the end, both were too stupid to realized that they were utterly in love but didn't know how to deal with it.

But, maybe it just wasn't the right time, because right now there were other things to deal with.


	16. What about you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We all have made some mistakes in our life.  
> And we all feel lonely sometimes.  
> But luckily there is always someone to talk to.  
> Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the reviews! :) This chapter is not quite as long as the others, but I hope you enjoy it anyways. And yes, school is keeping me really busy *sigh*  
> So, as always: I try to upload as fast as possible, but don't worry if it takes some time (especially now that the exams are comming, ughh...)

**Chapter 15**

The quiet humming of the TARDIS was calming. Right now he wasn't very...calm...not really, not at all, not when everything was a bit wibbly wobbly but not in a good way.

"We really have to be quick this time, don't we?" The Doctor mumbled as he sat down on the floor next to the console. "I know, I know!" The Time Lord sighed as his ship chided him for his lack of attention. "I know I should have known! But I didn't thought he would...you know...actually kidnap ..me." He stopped, furrowing his brow. It was weird, talking about yourself, past-self, knowing that your past could change everything. Oh, this was such a mess! And here he had thought he had learned to watch out for himself...

_That worked out well._

"Oh, shut up! I know, I do know!" The Time Lord was more than a little bit angry at himself. Not only was his past-self being held hostage by _the Master_ , no, Sherlock Holmes had vanished, too! And John Watson did probably hate him now, he had all reasons to hate all of them, and here they had been on the way of becoming something like friends, but nooo, no of course he had messed it up , of course, thank you Doctor, you are so smart!

The Doctor sighed in frustration and leaned back against the console. The TARDIS hummed, giving him some comfort. "I am glad that I have you." He really was, really, because his TARDIS was the only one that never left him. "Us, always together, eh?"

His ship hummed softly in agreement.

The Time Lord smiled sadly as he laid his hand upon the cool floor. He could feel the steady pulse of the soul of his ship, the life that was running through that old box, and he felt her love, er affection for him, and yes he was stupid most of the times but she would never leave him, never.

Because they were the only ones left.

Because they were all they had.

"Oh dear..." The Doctor dropped his eyes to the floor. The blue light of the tube lightened up the metal of the floor and illuminated the pale skin of the Doctor in a faint bluish light. "Oh dear..."

It was weird, to sit here on the floor of the old console room , here, in his old TARDIS. She had never met him in person, not yet.

The Doctor smiled as he thought back at the event while his hand absently stroke over the cool metal floor of his ship. "Sexy, hm...That's what you called yourself."

_What I call you...Uhm...Sometimes...I guess._

His ship giggled, and the Doctor was sure she would blush if she could.

The Time Lord sat there on the ground, listening to the quiet and happy humming of his ship and the steady noise of the tube.

His head did hurt.

It was foggy up there in his head, and he tried, oh he did, to find something, anything, a fragment of his past, something that would lead them to the Master, anything, anything...

But his head! It was as if it was trying to kill him!

And he couldn't reach through the fog, couldn't grasp a thought from his past...

It was as if something was blocking him, as if something didn't want him to see...

The Doctor groaned and pressed his right hand against his forehead.

It didn't help.

The Doctor leaned his head back against the console, his fingers massaging his temple. He was glad to be back inside his ship, to have her back, his all time companion.

But he felt _lonely_.

There had been hope, hope that the Master had changed. Oh, and he had been so glad, so happy, at the thought of having another Time Lord at his side,to have his _old friend_ at is side...

_We could have traveled through the Universe...together._

But it shouldn't have been, he should have known...

 _Foolish, foolish Doctor!_ _Now look at the mess you've made!_

"We never change..." The Doctor mumbled, his face in his hands.

_So naïve..._

He had been so glad...to see the Master alive. And for a few days, for those few hours, they had spent together, talking, even laughing, for those few hours he had felt _alive_.

Not _lonely_.

You could say he never was lonely, with all his companions and friends, with his TARDIS at his side, but _this_ was _different_.

There was a connection between Time Lords and the Doctor felt so lonely without this connection, without another Time Lord's mind to touch, and that was why he had almost thrown himself at the Master - because he had been so glad that he was no longer alone inside his head. Because there was nothing as horrible as the feeling of being alone inside your head when you were used to being able to connect with another soul.

Can you imagine, calling out but never getting an answer, desperate to talk to _someone_ , to feel another familiar soul?

Can you imagine the horrible dread of being alone _inside_ your _head_ for _years_ , for the rest of your _life_ , knowing that there will _never be_ an answer again?

Can you?

It's a little bit like walking on the streets of your hometown without anyone around.

No,it was like walking _any_ empty street.

It was like a whole empty world inside your head with you as the only inhabitant, the only one who had survived.

The mere fact that there had been _another_ Time Lord, the Master, his _friend_ , someone from his long forgotten past...

It had been too good.

And , of course, the Master had only been interested in Ten because he didn't know Eleven.

He didn't even want to know him.

Eleven couldn't blame him.

However, he could remember it, _them_ talking, because it had been _him_ talking to the Master, even if it had been his past-self...

For those few hours he had thought they would finally travel together, as _friends_.

But, of course the Master had to betray him, again.

He always did that, eventually, again and again and again, always.

The TARDIS hummed softly, almost soothingly, and the Doctor could hear her singing the old melody of Gallifrey, the old childhood lullaby that he could remember oh so well.

Sometime he really missed it, Gallifrey.

He always missed it.

He missed the red sky and the two suns, the high mountains and the silver trees, the golden grass, his family, his friends...

But he never told anyone, because who would listen?

His companions, oh yes, but he never told them because...they cared too much.

And he only felt guilty.

He was not supposed to moan.

He was the _cheerful_ Time Lord, he was _happy_ , _adventurous_ , always _ready_ to save the Universe, almost always nearly destroying it by trying to do so.

"No! Nononono, not now! Not now, Doctor! No time for being sentimental!" The Time Lord grabbed his hair, trying to get rid of the feelings and the headache.

His TARDIS continued to hum quietly, and the Doctor closed his eyes and listened to the old melody. He took one, two, three calming breaths, in and out, in and out, not opening his eyes.

The steady pulse of his ship underneath him, all around him, and the soothing melody of his past managed to calm him down again. He even began to hum, together with the TARDIS, remembering things from his past in Gallifrey, clearly seeing the pictures of the time-locked planet in front of his inner eye.

His hearts ached, but he smiled.

There was the soft fluttering of wings to be heard and the air moved slightly.

The Doctor did not open his eyes but he knew who was standing next to him, watching him with probably curious eyes.

"Hello, Castiel." The Time Lord said. "What brings you here? I thought you and Dean were searching for a place to stay for a few hours?"

Castiel was quiet, and the Doctor opened his eyes.

The angel looked miserable, his eyes downcast and his shoulders slouched.

The pale light of the TARDIS illuminated his pale face and the Doctor could see the dark circles under his eyes and the frown upon his face.

"Oh dear..." The Time Lord sighed with worry in his voice. "What's the matter? Are you alright? You don't look well."

Castiel blinked slowly, his brow furrowing even more, as if he was surprised that the Doctor would even notice him being sad.

"Come here, sit down with me." The Doctor patted the floor next to him."I think it is better to talk when we have the same eye level, don't you think? And sitting is much more comfortable than standing...even if the floor is made of metal."

The angel hesitated for one moment, almost as if he wasn't sure if he wanted to stay or not, but eventually he sat down next to the Doctor.

The angel was beautiful. It struck the Doctor every time he looked at him.

It wasn't his appearance, even if his wings made of pure Grace were stunning, even if his eyes seemed to hold the whole meaning of the Universe.

No.

It was the angel itself. He seemed to glow with an aura that the Doctor couldn't define, something holy and pure but strangely...human?

"So..."The Doctor tilted his head as he looked at Castiel.

"What's the matter?"

Castiel stared ahead, deep in thoughts as it seemed, and his wings shifted slightly behind him. "I think I made a mistake." He finally said, his voice low and serious.

The Doctor raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Oh. Well, we all do make mistakes then and there, right?"

Castiel didn't answer, he just propped his chin on his knees, his arms slung around his legs.

He didn't look very happy.

"I fear it is a grave one."

The Doctor watched the angel for a while longer. The light of the TARDIS drew dark shadows onto the pale face. He almost looked like a ghost.

What could have happened in the short time here on his ship?

"What do you mean?" The Time Lord asked, curiously.

The angel sighed and his wings pulled up and around his body until the Doctor could barely see the Castiel at all. He assumed it was an unconscious reaction, almost like a defense mechanism.

Did he want to shield himself from the Doctor, or the conversation? Or was he afraid of what the Doctor would think of him?

"Was it something you said?" The Doctor asked, since Castiel seemed to have difficulties to say what was wrong.

Castiel sighed deeply, shaking his head. "I wish it was."

The Doctor nodded slowly. "Okay...So, it was something you did?"

The angel stayed silent. The Doctor took that as a yes.

Castiel didn't seem to intend to say anything else, and the Doctor leaned back against the console, his gaze directed at the opposite wall.

"We don't have to talk about it."

Castiel's shifted his gaze to look at the Doctor. Right now his eyes and the upper half of his head were the only thing the Doctor could see of him.

Currently the angel looked a bit like a gigantic ball made of black diamond feathers which reflected the light of the TARDIS, glistening in all different kinds of turquoise and blue.

"I just do not understand why he is angry about it..." Castiel began, his eyes drifting back to the floor. "He seemed to want it too..." He trailed off, lost in thoughts. Opening up to someone didn't seem one of his strengths.

The TARDIS hummed softly, whispering into the Doctor's ear, and the Time Lord's eyes widened slightly in surprise.

_You stupid ship,you...Why would you do that?_

The TARDIS buzzed quietly, almost ashamed. She had only tried to help.

"Look." The Doctor began, and Castiel looked up again, his blue eyes wide and expectant, almost as if he thought the Doctor could fix the situation. Of course, though, he wasn't that naïve.

The Time Lord shrugged his shoulders. "I don't see what's wrong."

Castiel cocked his head, now watching the Doctor with only one eye that looked over his wing. He almost looked like an owl now, or like a bird of prey watching its prey. The Doctor had to admit it made him slightly nervous.

"She told me. TARDIS." The Doctor patted the console. "The old girl thought it would be nice for you two to finally admit your feelings. Seems like things went a bit wrong..."

Castiel's eye narrowed dangerously.

"BUUUUT!" The Doctor added hastily. "It would have happened eventually, so now that you both have finally admitted your feelings-"

"We did not do such a thing..."

"- you just have to wait a bit."

Castiel blinked. "Wait..." His said the word slowly, almost as if to get behind its meaning.

"Yes!" The Doctor nodded encouragingly. "Just wait until Dean has...well...until he had enough time to process what happened."

Castiel furrowed his brow in doubt. "What if he does not feel the same..." He began but the Doctor waved him off.

"Honestly? For an angel who knows the whole Universe and who can see into the souls of all beings, you really are blind if it comes to Dean Winchester's feelings towards you, even if they are the most obvious."

Castiel blinked in confusion. "I do not underst-"

"He loves you." The Doctor grinned from ear to ear. "Can't you see that?"

Castiel was quiet again.

_Love is blind..._

They continued to sit in silence, the humming of the TARDIS the only background sound.

"What about you, Doctor?" Castiel suddenly asked, his one eye eyeing the Doctor with hidden curiousity. "Why are you sad?"

The Doctor was baffled for a few seconds until he caught himself, grinning joyfully. "What? Me? No, nono, I am not sad! Not at all!"

The angel continued to eye the Doctor with his one blue eye, looking right through the façade of happiness that the Doctor had built to prevent the worry of others. "You are not happy." Castiel simply said.

It was an statement.

"You might appear happy on the outside, but your soul says otherwise." The angel cocked his head further, his one eye almost disappearing behind the wing. "You have endured a lot of pain, more than other beings in this Universe."

Castiel's head appeared behind the wing, his knowing eyes fixed on the deadpan face of the Doctor. "I wonder what has caused this sadness."

The Doctor's lips tightened into a grim line as he looked away from Castiel, his eyes now somewhere at the ceiling.

"You wouldn't understand." The Time Lord said, a bit more harsh than he had meant to.

Castiel didn't even blink. "How would you know?"

The Doctor's head spun around, frustration in his voice as he answered, "Because I killed more beings than you can imagine!"

Of course that was rude, of course Castiel could probably very well imagine the things the Doctor had done because, well, he was an angel,right?

However, the Doctor was just so angry at himself, and even angry at Castiel because he had asked about this, and the Doctor never liked talking about this part of himself because, hey, you wouldn't like to talk about the time you have committed genocide and other bad things, right?

"I killed my family, too. A large part of them." The angels' calm voice echoed through the console room. "And I do know what losing home feels like. Not being able to go back to your family..."

The Doctor's eyes softened in sympathy though his body was still tense.

How did he know?

"Did you read my mind?"

The angel shrugged his shoulder, an oddly human gesture which was causing his wings to rustle softly. "I thought it would help us to continue our conversation."

A honest answer.

The Doctor wondered if angels were even able to lie.

The Doctor snorted bitterly and Castiel's sighed apologetically. "I apologize, but I thought it was appropriate to talk about this topic since you seem to have trouble with yourself."

Eleven raised and eyebrow. Well, right, because a few minutes ago Castiel hadn't been the one who almost had an emotional break down...

The Time Lord took a deep breath through his nose and closed his eyes. His head did hurt. "I would rather not talk about...killing family and...others..."

Yes,in fact he would rather not talk about all the dried blood at his hands. About all the innocent people he had killed. About all the chaos he had caused. About the chaos he _would_ cause.

Self-hatred and sadness began to well up inside of him and he had to ball his hands into fists so he wouldn't yell in frustration and anger.

"I am sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable..." The voice of Castiel was soft. "That was not my intention."

The Doctor sighed and shook his head, his fists slowly unclenching. "No, no, it's alright. I guess you've just wanted to help,right?" The Time Lord smiled and opened his eyes.

Castiel's expression, though, was strangely sad.

"Hey, you still don't look so happy." The Doctor pointed out. Again he began to worry about the angel.

Castiel just smiled quickly. "I feel no worse than you do."

Well, they both knew what that meant.

The Doctor cleared his throat, trying to find a topic that wouldn't leave them both more depressed than they already were.

Wasn't easy, though.

"Ouch."

Castiel, who currently had been busy watching the reflection of the blue light on his wings, looked up. "Are you alright?"

The Doctor rubbed his forehead as he grimaced in pain. His head felt as if someone was ramming needles into his brain. "My head...I don't know...but I have this headache since we left..."

Castiel's eyes narrowed and realization flickered across his face. He saw something the Doctor couldn't see.

"I understand." The angel moved closer, invading the Doctor's personal space, his hand outstretched. "Wait, let me help you."

Gentle fingers were pressed against his forehead and the Doctor squinted to take a look at the strangely fine-boned hand against his forehead. Those hands must have belonged to an artist ones before the angel had taken the body as a vessel. At least that was what the Doctor assumed.

"What are you doing?"

Castiel didn't answer, instead the Doctor could feel a soft rush through his body, almost like a surge of warm energy. Minutes later and the headache ebbed away into a soft throbbing in the back of his head.

The Doctor's face lit up immediately. "Thank y-" He stopped, his eyes widening as a sudden rush of memories flooded the foggy space inside his head.

_He sat at a table. In a room, a big room. It almost looked like a ballroom. The memory was oddly greyish and blurry, but he could see enough to know that this was a memory of his captured past-self._

_"Are you alright?"_

_He looked up, his vision swimming in front of his eyes._

_"Yes." Was his simple answer. His voice sounded strange to his own ears._

_The Master smiled at him, no smirk, no, it was a smile. "Good."_

_He looked well, the Master. Not as haunted and pale as before._

_He wore a fine suit, one of those that he had liked to wear when he had called himself Saxon._

_"Aren't you hungry anymore?"_

_He blinked. His eyes shifting back to the plate in front of him._

_There was a toast on his plate, scrambled eggs..._

_His eyes darted to the newspaper next to his plate..._

The Doctor's eyes focused again, staring into the worried eyes of Castiel.

"Oh, oh thank you!" The Doctor jumped up abruptly, causing Castiel to stumble backwards.

"What-"

The Time Lord grabbed Castiel by the coat and yanked him upwards, a grin on his face. "I don't know what you did, but it worked! It worked!"

Without further explanation the Doctor cupped the angel's face and gave him a quick kiss of excitement before Castiel could ask another question.

"You are...welcome..." A very perplexed angel answered.

The Doctor's grin widened even more as he jumped behind the console, switching and pushing buttons and controllers.

" _What_ just _happened_."

They both turned around to look at Dean, who stood at the entrance to the control room. Maybe the Doctor just imagined things but he was sure that the hunter looked...grumpy and...jealous?

"Oh! Castiel just helped me remembering!" The Doctor beamed.

Dean, however, just looked as grim as before. "Oh. Sure. Of course."

His voice was dry.

The Doctor almost stopped in his tracks in order ask the human if everything was alright but decided that there was no time for that.

Anyway, he was sure he could imagine why Dean was so sullen all of sudden...

"Grab something and hold on tight, we're going for a ride!"

The TARDIS made a jerk and Dean was nearly thrown against the next best wall if Castiel hadn't grabbed his arm to save him from the impact.

"Fuck!"

The Doctor laughed, holding onto the console of the TARDIS as they flew through time and space.

The ship came to a sudden stop and everything was quiet and still again.

"Are we...Oh god, I think I'm going to vomit."

Indeed the hunter looked a bit green around the nose.

"Not while being inside my ship, please!" The Doctor jumped towards the doors, ready to step outside. "I think she wouldn't like that."

The Doctor was sure he heard Dean mumbling something like, "Well fuck you,too."

The sunlight was bright and the Doctor blinked a few times to get used to the brightness. The air was warm, a summer day then, and the streets were noisy with cars.

The TARDIS had parked in a side alley and the Doctor had to step aside so Dean and Castiel would fit into the small space of the alleyway.

"We are on earth." Castiel turned his head to look around, his wide eyes taking in the surroundings.

"Well, yeah, where else should we be?" Dean mumbled. He still looked a bit greenish.

"Technically, the Master could have hidden anywhere." The Doctor pointed out, his sonic screwdriver in his hand as he touched the wall. Solid stone, nothing interesting. "So we can call ourself lucky that he chose earth...Or,well, I guess it isn't a good sign but it is definitely better to track him on earth than anywhere else..."

The Doctor could very well remember the last time the Master had been on earth...It didn't end all too well for humanity.

"So,...where exactly _are_ we." The Winchester asked as he and the angel followed the Doctor out of the alley.

"London, of course." The Time Lord answered, almost disappointed that Dean hadn't noticed. Though, the Doctor had to admit, he wouldn't have recognized the city, either.

The houses were oddly cold and lifeless, the windows all closed despite the heat. There were a few cars in the distance, yes, but almost no humans.

The few humans that could be spotted seemed busy with themselves, not looking up from the floor as they walked silently alongside each other.

It was far too quiet for a big city like London. Far too quiet.

"Something is not right..." The Doctor pressed his lips together as he frowned, his eyes darting around. "That's not alright."

The Time Lord began to march down the sidewalk, the hunter and the angel following him with a confused look on their face.

"Wait, wait!" Dean caught up with the Doctor, grabbing his arm to force him to slow down. "What's going on?!"

The Doctor flipped his hair back in annoyance as he freed himself out of Dean's tight grip. "That's what I am trying to find out!"

The Time Lord continued his march down the road.

"But, how!?" Dean caught up with him again. "What are you goin' to do now, heh?! Are you havin' any idea of what we are supposed to do now?! What _time_ is it anyway?! What _fucking year_ is it?!"

The Doctor rolled his eyes but didn't answer.

They needed to find them, now. They would know what had happened. They would be able to help them.

If they were still alive...

"Hey, Doc, I am _talking_ to you, man!"

The Doctor stopped abruptly, causing Castiel to walk into him.

"I apologize." The angel mumbled with his low voice but the Doctor paid him no attention, instead he looked at Dean with a serious expression on his face.. "We are _going to_ find out what happened, alright?" He hissed, his voice low so no one would hear his words, besides Dean and Castiel. Not that there were any people to hear anything, though. "But would you _please_ _calm down_ , your behavior is not helping us right now, in fact it only makes us _stand out_ even _more_ , and I really hope the Master didn't already notice us because I can tell you that wouldn't be-"

"Dean? Castiel? Doctor?"

They turned around, all three of them wide eyed.

"Sam!" The relief in Dean's voice was unmistakable.

Sam Winchester stood in front of them, tall as ever. He looked worn out, though. Tired. He was unshaved and his hair was way longer than it had been the last time they had seen him. He looked older, his face having lost the soft edges which had been replaced by hard lines. His eyes were wary as he eyed them.

"Oh,Sam! How did you find us?" The Doctor wanted to know. The possibility that Sam Winchester, of all people that lived here in London, accidentally ran into them was relatively small...

"I didn't." Sam answered, still wary. His eyes darted around as if to make sure that no one was watching them. They were alone on the streets, though. Something that didn't seem right about that.

"Gabriel did. But we don't have time for talking now. We have to get off the streets."

Dean opened his mouth and Castiel's eyes widened even more, both looking as if they were in shock.

"Gabriel?" Dean asked, slowly. "As in, 'our' Gabriel Gabriel or other Gabriel Gabriel?"

Sam sighed. "Dean, we don't have time for this now! I'll explain things later, but for now we really need to get _off_ the streets!"

The younger Winchester began to walk down the road, closely followed by his brother, the angel and the Time Lord. His body was tense and his eyes never stayed on a spot for too long, always wandering around, always alert.

"But, but Sam!" Dean hurried up, trying to keep up with his brother's long steps. "What happened? Why do we need to get off the streets? Hell, why is _everyone off_ the streets!?"

Sam took a quick glance at his brother. "Because it is nearly eleven am and that means the patrols will start soon!"

They turned around a corner. The streets here were as empty as the streets before. Somewhere in the distance a dog was barking. The curtains of all windows were drawn.

"Patrols?" Dean asked, his eyes wandering around, showing his unease. "What the fuck?"

Sam hissed, urging Dean to be quieter. "Things did change a bit during the past years."

Dean blinked in surprise, his head turning around to look at the Doctor, who couldn't quite meet Dean's eyes, and back to Sam. "What do you mean..."

Sam didn't look at Dean as he walked further down the road, away from the center of the city.

"You've been gone for six years, Dean."

His jaw clenched.

"Things are a bit different now."


	17. Welcome to the future, would you like to stay?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This future doesn't look very bright...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I won't be able to update within the next three weeks because I will go on a class trip from 15.10 till 21.10 !  
> But I will try to update the new chapter immediately after I have returned ( not exactly at that day but as soon as possible)  
> For now, here you go with Chapter 16 :)

**Chapter 16**

Six Years.

They had been gone, for six years, flying through time and space in a stupid blue telephone box leaving his brother alone and probably confused and worried...

Six.

Damn.

Years.

"Explain!" Dean Winchester hissed, his jaw clenched as he turned around to the Doctor. The Time Lord flinched, visibly uncomfortable under Dean's intense gaze. "You said we would be back in what, a few minutes!?"

Six Years.

The whole world could have changed while they had been gone.

Everything could have changed.

And for Dean it had felt like they had been gone for mere hours...

"Dean..." Castiel's voice was as calm as always and a soothing hand was laid upon Dean's shoulder. It was Cas' hand.

Cas, who had kissed him hours ago.

Who had barely kissed him with his soft lips.

Who had kissed the Doctor.

Castiel, who was watching him now, with his bright blue eyes, looking at Dean and only Dean, waiting for him to calm down eventually.

He didn't like Dean being angry.

There had been a time when Castiel hadn't been afraid of Dean being angry, a time when Castiel had been a proud Angel of the Lord.

Now, however, he was afraid, wanting no conflict no more.

Dean's stomach clenched because he didn't know what to feel right now.

Well, fuck this.

"The Doctor is right. This is a different Time line. Everything is as it should be - for us. " Dean's angry gaze turned from the frightened Doctor to the angel, who met Dean's upset gaze without flinching.

"How can everything be alright when...when we have been gone for years!?"

Castiel sighed deeply, his hand tightening around Dean's shoulder. He opened his mouth but Sam, the six-years-into-future- Sam, interrupted him with a quick and sharp jerk of his head. "Not NOW, Cas!"

Six years...

Technically, Sam was older than Dean now.

_What a weird feeling._

They hurried along the empty streets, their footsteps echoing from the house walls. London had been full and busy, now it was anything than a shadow of itself.

What had happened?

"Where are we going?" Dean asked instead.

Sam looked over his shoulder at his brother. "Safe house." His answer was short, sharp like the invisible edges around his body.

This was not Dean's Sammy. Dean's stomach clenched even more as he realized that this was reminding him of something.

_2014._

Dean shuddered involuntarily. Not one of his best memories, that was for sure...

And this future didn't look any brighter. Well, maybe he shouldn't be surprised anymore; every future seemed to suck ass.

Great. Fantastic. No matter how hard they tried to save the day, everything went downhill as soon as they had rebuilt it.

Where was the point in all of this?

"Dean." Castiel was right next to him. His hand wasn't on his shoulder anymore, of course not since they were running around the streets, but his gaze alone seemed to touch Dean with gentle hands. "It will be alright."

How could he be so sure? How could he sound so confident?

How, when everything was anything else than good, when Cas himself was broken?

"Yeah, sure." Dean uttered dryly.

Cas smiled sadly and turned his gaze back onto the street. Dean could have slapped himself, because this hadn't been what he had wanted to say, not like this, not with this sarcastic undertone, but it had blurted out of him, like always.

_Mental note - things that I am good at: hurting people._

"Stop, stop!" Their heads turned around as the Doctor stopped abruptly. Sam opened his mouth but the Doctor was faster than the Winchester.

"My TARDIS!" There was panic in his voice, his eyes wide with sudden fear. "We can't leave her behind!"

Oh,damn it! Of course! The patrol would notice the blue box!

"Fuck!" Sam cursed, coming to a full stop.

The shrill sound of sirens echoed from the walls and Sam cursed again.

The Doctor turned around, ready to run back to his beloved ship, the one thing that could betray their arrival.

"No, Doctor!" Sam bellowed, his voice almost drowning under the loud sound of the sirens, but the Doctor was already at the end of the sidewalk, his long legs carrying him fast down the road.

"Sam!" Castiel's voice was sharp and clear against the annoying sound of the sirens. "You two have to go."

Dean immediately knew what the angel intended to do, and he didn't like it one bit. "Oh, no! Don't you dare!"

_It's too dangerous! What if you get caught? What if, what if, what if?!_

Castiel gave Dean a small smile, a confident smile, before he said, "See you soon."

Then he was gone.

"Cas, no!"

Sam grabbed him by the arm, yanking him down the street so he stumbled alongside his brother.

_Stupid angel, damn you, Castiel!_

They didn't talk, not while they were running through the empty city.

Dean almost expected the patrol to catch them, expecting them behind every corner and in every alley, but nothing happened, nothing at all.

The further they ran away from the center of the city the quieter became the sirens. Soon their fast steps on the asphalt were the only noise that was to be heard. Dean's heart hammered in his chest, matching his rapid breathing.

The houses became older and sordid, and Dean had the feeling that this was the district of the poor. Or, maybe it had been abandoned. There was this feeling as if eyes were watching them out of the small shadows but no one was to be seen.

Once a curtain moved, and a few stray cats jumped away as the Winchesters ran past them.

"I should have taken the car with me." Sam grumbled, talking more to himself than to Dean. "The Impala?" Dean couldn't help but ask. His baby better was alright.

"No. The Impala is in America."

_America? But..._

"What?"

Sam didn't answer, but Dean didn't blame him.

It was after a few more minutes, or hours , that they arrived at an old house.

It wasn't as dilapidated as the other ones but it wasn't really pretty either. The right window of the second floor was broken and had been fixed with wooden plates and vines and tendrils covered a large part of the building. The plaster had large cracks and the roof looked as if it had seen better days once.

"Wow." Dean whistled but couldn't hide the sarcasm in his voice.

"We had other things to do than fixing the house." Was Sam's dry reply and Dean swallowed down his answer. He had to remember that this wasn't the Sammy he used to know.

There was something cold between them, not the real brotherly love that they usually shared. It was as if they were strangers to each other.

The door creaked as Sam opened it without using a key.

The hallway was dark even if it was day outside, but that was probably because of the tendrils which covered most of the windows as if to hide the inside of the house from the outside world. A few rays of sunlight managed to get through, but their light was barely enough to lit up the rooms. Dust was dancing in the stale air in front of them.

There were lamps, though, and to Dean's surprise they seemed rather new and functional.

The smell of the house was old and musty, but not in a bad way. It smelled of wood, and...books?

"We are back." Sam yelled. Dean half expected no one to answer, but suddenly a dark haired head appeared behind the door frame to the right. "That much we have figured out."

Dean's heart almost stopped and his mouth opened in disbelief. "Sherlock!"

The detective, who was alive and well, smiled lazily. He smiled!

"Yes, that happens to be my name. Nice to see you again, Dean. It was quite some time that we have last met, am I right?"

The detective looked well, better than before. He still was pale but he didn't look unhealthy anymore. His eyes were still a cold bluish grey but they seemed to be alive now, not as icy cold and without emotion as they had been the last time Dean had seen him. It was as if someone had animated a porcelain doll by giving it a soul.

"But... but you vanished!"

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders, and it looked so normal, so unlike Sherlock. "And I reappeared. Three years later, though."

Dean just shook his head, his eyes wandering from Sherlock to Sam and back again as if the answer was in the air between them.

He really shouldn't be surprised by those things anymore, he really shouldn't.

"How?" That was all he was able to ask. At the moment he felt like he had been hit by a frying pan of different emotions.

"Welllll, Dean, I guess you could say it was my fault."

No. .

Gabriel, fucking Gabriel, had appeared next to Sherlock, a fucking lollipop in his mouth as he grinned like a cheshire cat. His hair was a bit messy but his clothes looked as new as ever. Had to be the angel mojo.

"Is this the meeting of the 'I am supposed to be dead but I am not' guys?!"

He hadn't changed, not one bit. He still had the crooked grin on his lips and his golden eyes were full of mischief. But, Dean couldn't help but notice that even the archangel had a dark edge around himself. It wasn't as obvious as it was with Sam, but there was something different about him...

As if the future had sharpened them, as if they had adjusted to the dark world by becoming sharp and cold.

Only Sherlock seemed more alive than ever.

"Kind of." Sam answered as he hurried past Sherlock and Gabriel into the small kitchen, ignoring the grimace that Gabriel made as the hunter pushed him aside to get through the doorway.

Dean just continued to stare at Gabriel. "But, how?"

Gabriel grinned his lopsided grin. "I am an archangel, Deanny, and I was known as the trickster." He winked. "You really thought I would let myself be killed by my own dickhead of a brother? No way!"

Dean's stare became even more intensive, almost as if to force Gabriel to explain himself.

"Do you want something to drink?" Sam's voice echoed from the kitchen.

"Yeah." A beer would be really nice right now. Fuck.

"Why don't we sit down while I explain everything." The archangel offered and guided Dean towards the living room.

The living room was, in fact, not much more than a room with a sofa and a television. Two bookshelf were placed against the wall opposite of the doorway. They were half empty,though, and the few books they contained were old and used. The wooden plates of the floor creaked as Dean walked to the ugly green sofa.

Gabriel sat down next to Dean, eyeing the hunter with attentive eyes. Dean first avoided to look at the angel, but at some point he just couldn't stand the silence anymore.

"So, how did you do it?"

Gabriel leaned back, a pleased grin on his lips as he stretched his arms out on the back of the sofa.

"Had to rip off one third of my Grace in order to fool Luci. I can tell you, that did hurt like a bitch, but in the end I managed to fool him. He thought it was me, dying there, but in fact it was just a clone, made of pure Grace." The archangel grimaced as he thought back at the pain he had felt, and Dean even felt sympathy for the clever bastard. After all, it had been Sammy's and his fault that Gabriel had 'died'. "I had to give up a pair of my wings! My _wings_! Have you ever seen an archangel with four wings?! I am a cripple now!" The archangel sighed dramatically and began to suck at the lollipop.

"But, why didn't he notice..." Dean asked. "And, why can't you grow 'em back..." He gestured with his hands "...your wings."

Gabriel took a deep breath as he shook his head. "Oh Deanny! Don't you think I have tried? But wings are part of our true form, and therefore they can't be healed, or at least not that easily."

The archangel sucked at his lollipop before he added , "Ask Cassie, his wings have gone through Hell for you."

Dean's face darkened at the through and Gabriel nudged the hunter's leg with his foot.

"Hey, don't you start crying here just because I mentioned that Cassie's wings got roasted. There are far worse things than scarred wings ." He twisted the lollipop and smiled almost kindly. "As for Luci; I think he assumed that only one pair of wings is burned into the ground. He never saw one of us die." With us he meant archangels, Dean assumed.

"So, basically, you ripped off a part of your Grace and gave up one pair of your wings without knowing if the trick would work?"

Gabriel shrugged his shoulders. "I had to try, right? And see, here I am, alive and well."

Dean nodded, slowly, not really sure what to reply.

They sat there in awkward silence until Sam and Sherlock came back with the drinks. It was no beer, to Dean's disappointment.

"So, how did you come back?" Dean asked Sherlock as he sipped at his drink, which happened to be ice tea. _Ice tea..._

Sherlock, who sat on a folding chair that he had brought from the kitchen, placed his drink on the floor and crossed his legs. "Gabriel saved a part of his Grace inside the amulet."

Dean's eyebrows shot up and he turned to face Gabriel, who just wriggled his eyebrows in return. "I am everywhere."

Dean grunted and turned his head back to Sherlock, who patiently continued his explanation the situation. "He knew about the possibility of Murmur, or others, coming near me, so he planned ahead. He sealed his Grace inside the amulet, alongside the missing part of my soul, so it would protect me if the amulet is forcefully opened by someone else than me. As result I was send three years into the future even if Murmur was already dead."

Dean's brow furrowed. "Why three years? And why-"

"You never read the books, did you?" Sam rolled his eyes.

Oh, but he did! Not all stories, because there had barely been time for that, but sometimes..

"Whatever, bitch" Dean rolled his eyes as well. Sam's pressed his mouth into a thin line but couldn't help the small smile.

"So, what about the whole special soul thing?"

Sherlock hummed thoughtfully. "I don't really know." He admitted.

Wow, there actually _was_ one thing that Sherlock _didn't_ know?

_Creepy._

As Dean turned to the archangel he only raised his hands. "Don't ask me."

"You are an archangel, you have to know!"

Gabriel stuck out his tongue, almost losing his lollipop by doing that. "I am not your angel bitch, okay? So calm your tits and show me some respect or I zap you straight back on the street! And believe me, you don't want to be out there when the patrol is patrolling."

Dean huffed and crossed his arms, his gaze wandering to the veiled window. A few tiny spots of sunlight on the floor was all the light that made it through the thick tendrils. The vines made the window looked like one of those church windows, those made of colorful glass mosaic. It had something peaceful.

Who would have thought that they would meet Sherlock again, here of all places and times?

Or Gabriel?

One person, though, was missing. Dean hadn't noticed it before, but now he did.

"Where is your friend?" Dean's gaze wandered back to Sherlock, who had a curious expression on his face. "Watson. Where is he? Is he outside?"

Sherlock's face fell and Sam's gaze darkened visibly. "You know...He kind of didn't make it."

Dean's eyebrows raised in surprise. "What? But I thought you-"

Sam shook his head, his long hair flying into every direction. Dean wondered how he was even able to see through that thick vail of hair. "Remember? You, gone, six years?"

Dean nodded.

"Well...I wasn't here all the time. I had to go back to America, that's why the Impala isn't here. You know, because of Dick?"

Gabriel snickered but shut his mouth as Sam gave him a dark gaze. Wow, so now Sam was the archangel whisperer or what?

"Anyway." Sam continued. "Dick had some really serious shit going on back home, and that's why I had to leave John. I waited for you, though. To come back. I think...three month it was..." He stopped, his jaw clenching before he continued. "So I went back. I found this kid, 'name was Kevin Tran. He was a smart guy, and a prophet on that. Everyone was after him, also Dick..." Sam sighed and his eyes turned incredible sad.

His whole posture seemed to drop, even his hair seemed less fluffy and alive than a few minutes ago. "I tried, you know, but it was kinda hard to save the day all lone..."

A pang of guilt made its way through Dean's body and he swallowed hard.

_Damn it..._

"Sammy, listen, I am so-"

"Anyway, long story short." Sam looked up from his hands, totally ignoring the sympathy in Dean's eyes. "I defeated Dick with some help." He nodded towards Gabriel, who moved the fingers of his left hand as if to wave at Dean, who only answered with an almost pained grimace. "It was a few month later, I think, when Sherlock called."

"It was three years after the incident, almost immediately after I reappeared." Sherlock briefly informed.

Sam nodded in agreement. "Yeah. You can imagine my surprise when it was Sherlock who called."

The _' and not you'_ hovered over them in the air like a neon sign.

"Of course Gabriel zapped us back to London in order to help Sherlock. Things had already changed...And not to the best, as you can see."

Dean's brow furrowed. "So, John is missing?"

Sherlock pressed his lips together as he shook his head. "No. He is one of them now."

_Seriously? Why is everyone always speaking in riddles?!_

Because Dean didn't know who 'they' were, he took a deep breath and asked. "Them?"

"Demons." Sam leaned back, his hands pressed against the old wooden floor to support his weight. "They are all over the place now, thanks to Moran and the Master. They lead the patrols." Sam wrinkled his nose, clearly angry that the demons had managed to get a piece of London.

Dean's heart sank as he saw the sad expression on Sherlock's face. The detective seemed to be more than sad that his long time companion had become a demon meat suit. He looked surprisingly human, surprisingly young, now that his cold armor of rejection was gone.

"But, are you sure?" He chose his words carefully because he didn't want dig deeper into the wound.

Sherlock shifted back and forth, his body a tight line. The sudden change in his posture and the lack of emotion on his face kind of reminded Dean of the old Sherlock, the one that had barely shown emotions at all. Frankly, Dean did still believe that the detective hadn't been able to show, _or feel_ , emotions until he had gotten the missing part of his soul.

"Definitely, yes."

Awkward silence came upon them.

Dean was busy with his glass of ice tea, his eyes firmly fixed on the swirling content inside his glass. The color of the tea was amber, like some sort of whisky.

"You know-" Gabriel stood up energetically. "- I think you should eat something."

Dean only furrowed his brow in confused. Okay, what the Hell was going on here?!

"Huh, are you our mother now or what?"

The archangel gave Dean a forced smile before he answered, "You know what? Suck it, Winchester. Just this one time I actually _tried_ to be friendly to you."

Sam sighed loudly before he stood up as well, giving Gabriel a stern gaze. "Gabriel, stop being theatrical. We don't have time for that."

Gabriel's lips curled and he actually pouted, crossing his arms like a child that had been chided. "Sure sure, big boss. Whatever you say."

The archangel shuffled out of the room, mumbling something to himself. Dean was sure he heard the words 'big moose' and 'go fuck yourself you stupid asshole of a bow-legged hunter ', though the last one was probably directed at Dean.

"Sam,..."Dean followed the archangel with his eyes. "Are you married or something? Did I miss some important love story or whatever? Or are you now officially allowed to push him around like he's your bitch?"

Sam only rolled his eyes at that comment. "It's difficult, okay? Everything's kinda difficult. Especially since we are stuck here."

Dean became alert immediately. "Stuck?" He asked as he followed Sam, who went out of the room. Sherlock stayed behind. "Stuck _how_?"

Sam tensed up and turned around on his heels, a sour look on his face.

"Dean, just...not now, okay?" He seemed stressed out, almost annoyed by Dean's presence. Dean had to admit, that _did_ kind of hurt...

The older Winchester felt himself becoming frustrated with the whole situation. What was the matter with Sam? Okay, well, yeah, six years where a damn long time and Dean was sure he himself would be pissed, too, but...

"Why? When else will you tell me anything? We could die tomorrow or today, so just spit it out. " His brother gave him an angry glare and Dean had to look away, not because he couldn't stand to see his brother angry, more because he didn't _want_ to see him being angry right now.

"It's no big deal,okay?" Sam finally said, leaning against the porous wall which crunched underneath his elbow. "The Master managed to control the airports."

He looked so much older now, the wrinkles around his eyes hard and deeper than before. His mouth was a small grim line. It seemed that he hadn't laughed for real in quite a while.

Even in the dim light of the hallway Dean could see the small battle scars on his brother's face and hands, a sign that this future was definitely not much better than the past had been.

He wore no shirts no more. Sam usually wore those really ugly shirts with those weird patterns and colors that didn't even fit together, but now all he was wearing was a black sweater and dark faded jeans.

"So what?" Dean nodded towards the kitchen. "Fly out of here."

Sam sighed in frustration, running a hand through his hair. "It isn't that simple, Dean. We've tried, believe me."

"Well,sometimes trying isn't enough..." Dean mumbled, looking at Sam.

Sam stared at him for mere minutes, then he laughed, actually laughed, bitterly. "Oh,really?" He snapped. "Well, how about, the last time we tried to flee Gabriel ended up being shot by some demon assholes who managed to get a grip on us while he tried to fly us out of here?"

"Well, he is an angel,right?!" Dean snapped back. "So he can heal himself!"

Sam snorted, leaning heavily against the wall. "No. Not when they use those damn new power-supressing weapons that the Master has invented. It took more than enough time until the wound was healed, and in the first few hours I really thought he was going to bleed out." Sam's hands balled into fists as he tried to calm himself. For a few seconds his seemed to be far away with his thoughts until he caught himself. "And we can't risk it, trying to flee. Not again. They almost caught us last time, and it's getting difficult enough to even live here without getting caught by them."

Awesome.

Dean let out a sigh of frustration.

"Hey, beauty queens." Gabriel's head appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. He was far too cheerful all the time.

How did he manage that?

"Stop being all depressed, won't you? Else I am going to cry as well." The archangel gave them a wide grin, almost as if to cheer them up, but none of the Winchesters returned the grin.

"Awwwwww! C'mon, guys!" Gabriel straightened up, putting his hands on his hips like an angry mother. "It's not as if we all going to die today!"

It was then that a loud thud and a scream was to be heard from the living room, as if to show Gabriel that, no, in fact, nothing was alright.

Of course they all rushed into the living room. Dean's heart raced like a trapped wild animal inside his chest, afraid of what he would find, because surely, surely it were Cas and the Doc who came back...

And, he was right, it was them, Cas and the Doc, both on the floor, a very shocked Sherlock sitting on the floor next to them, leaning with his back against the wall.

There was already blood on the dark floor, seeping through the small gaps between the wooden plates like water.

Heavy breathing and painful gasps filled the air.

Cas was on his hands and knees, and without thinking twice Dean was at his side within mere seconds. "Cas!"

The angel looked up, his blue eyes wide and for one moment Dean was sure he didn't even see Dean at all, that he was seeing someone else, that he was expecting someone else. His eyes were full of fear and his face was blank.

"Dean!" Cas stuttered as he realized that it was Dean who was at his side, his hand reaching out to clutch Dean's shoulder in a tight grip, almost as if to steady himself. The hunter felt his heart skip a beat as he noticed that Cas' clothes were full of blood.

"Are you alright!? Cas!?" He grabbed the angel by the shoulders and looked him up and down, afraid to find a deep wound and more blood.

" I am fine." The angel nodded hastily and pointed at the body that was lying next to him on the cold floor. It was now that Dean noticed that there was no wound to be seen on Castiel's body, and that the blood wasn't Castiel's own.

Dean's gaze wandered to the body lying on the floor and he swallowed heavily.

The Doctor was deathly pale, his face a grimace of pain as he lay flat on his back on the wooden floor of the old house. His eyes were half-lidded and glazed over with pain.

Blood was gushing from a bullet wound near his neck above his right shoulder and had already soaked half of his tweed jacket and white shirt in bright red. The Time Lord was wheezing heavily and seemed to be barely conscious while his sweaty face become paler and paler with every minute.

Every new breath he took was sending a new wave of pain through his body and he grimaced as he took several shallow gasps of air.

Sam and Gabriel where at the Doctor's side immediately, rushing towards the limp body without hesitation.

"Hang in there" Sam crouched down next to the Doctor, who turned his head to look at the younger Winchester.

"Ahhhng!...Hng...Sry hng...abt t flr..." The Doctor panted, becoming even paler because of the effort of trying to speak.

"That's alright, buddy, that's alright." Gabriel went on his hands and knees next to Sam, his eyes on the nasty wound. "This place needs a cleaning anyway."

The Doctor tried to smile but failed.

"I am sorry, it was a trap!" Castiel said hastily, stumbling over the words almost as if he was afraid that someone would scold him. "I was not fast enough and I could not heal him-"

Dean shook his head, his hand squeezing Castiel's arm to calm him down. He would like to tell Cas that it was alright, and it should be alright in mere minutes now that they were back and the angels could heal the Doc, but he didn't know what to say, had no soothing words, and so he remained quiet at Castiel's side.

"That's not good, we need to take that out." Sam whispered, worry showing on his face as he pressed his hand down on the wound to stop the bleeding.

Why hadn't Gabriel healed the Doc already?

"He is in no condition for that!" Gabriel hissed back while he tore off a part of his shirt so Sam could press it down onto the wound. "He lost far too much blood and you now that, _right at the moment_ , we don't have any painkillers here! This would be far too much to handle for him in his current state!"

"Aghng!" The eyes of the Doctor rolled back and he groaned, pressing his lips together as he tried to hold back the pained noises.

The right half of his face was coated with his own blood and he looked so awful and half dead that Dean felt a sting in his heart, because no, this shouldn't have happened, not to the Doctor!

The Time Lord looked so incredible young as he lay there in his own blood, his hands searching for something to hold on to while he tried to cope with the spasms of pain that rocked his body.

Sherlock seemed to have caught himself and was now trying to help Sam and Gabriel, who tried to move the Doctor without hurting him even more, which kind of wasn't possible.

"Ngh!" The Time Lord winced in pain, a soft groan escaping his lips as Sam hoisted him up into his arms. He was barely strong enough to hold on to Sam. In fact, all he did was lying in Sam's arms, bleeding all over the place while his arms and legs swayed with every step that Sam took.

"Sherlock, get the kitchen table ready!" Sam yelled, nodding towards the door. His hands and clothes were full of the Doctor's blood now, his face grim and determined.

The detective nodded quickly and was out of the room before Dean could realize it.

Everything happened so fast and Dean had no clue what was going on, what they where about to do. The Doctor whimpered again, his head dangling from side to side as Sam hurried out of the room. He looked incredible small and vulnerable in Sam's arms.

"Wait, hey wait! What are you doing!?" Dean jumped up, ready to follow Sam out of the room. His stomach clenched as he remembered the glassy half-lidded eyes of the Doctor and all the blood, and he couldn't help but feel responsible for this, because fuck they should have stopped the Doctor!

" _Calm down_!" Gabriel stepped up in front of Dean, his gaze totally serious. "We are going to take the bullet out."

"But-" Dean turned around to Castiel, who was still sitting on the floor. "Why haven't you healed him?!"

"Couldn't" Was all Castiel croaked, his wide eyes fixed on Gabriel. Fuck, of course! Gabriel was Cas' brother and of course he would be shocked now that the shock had worn off-

"Special bullets!" Gabriel hissed hastily. "They absorb supernatural powers and make them useless! We have to do this the old way."

"Old way!" Was all Dean managed to ask. This wasn't good! Fuck, this was far from good!

"Gabriel!" Sam yelled and a loud and pained groan followed. "Gabriel, hurry up!"

Gabriel's head turned towards the door, but before he could move he was stopped by arms around his upper body.

"Gabriel!" Cas was hugging, fucking hugging, his brother, his eyes still wide with disbelief. "You were dead! I ...I remember your death!"

Surprise was written all over Gabriel's face as he looked down at the messy mop of brown hair against his chest. "Whoa, easy there, tiger!"

"Gabriel!" Sam's voice was urgent. "Now!"

"Oh dear..." Gabriel smiled, but his expression was utterly sad as his hand carefully patted Castiel's hair. He eyed Castiel with an almost caring look in his warm golden eyes. "What happened to you, little one?"

Castiel leaned up again, looking down at his older brother with some sort of pained relief on his face and he opened his mouth to say something but he stopped suddenly, flinching and swaying on the spot as he tried to hold on to something.

Dean could literally see the short circuit; Castiel's eyes flickered, his grace flashing up and dying down behind his eyes before he collapsed without a sound.

Dean and Gabriel were fast enough to catch him before he hit the ground and they carefully laid him down.

Castiel didn't stir.

"What happened! What the Hell happened!" Dean looked up at Gabriel, demanding an answer.

The archangel's face was deadpan though his hands were balled into fists. "I-"

"FUCK, GABRIEL!" Sam's voice cut through the tense situation like a knife. "COME HERE, NOW!"

Gabriel licked his lower lip, an apologetic look on his face. "I need to help the others."

"But, Cas-"

"Castiel will be alright, for now." Gabriel's voice was as serious as his expression. "Look out for him and don't move from his side."

"Can't you at least-" Dean began, but Gabriel had already zapped them into his bedroom. "- tell me if you can help Cas..."


	18. Things could be worse, right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, things aren’t good, but they could be worse, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaaaaay,m baaack!  
> Okay, so I am back from the trip. Here is the new update, as I've promised. The next one shouldn't take too long, but I can't promise anything (school...argh)

Dean sat silently in the armchair, his gaze fixed on Castiel’s unmoving body.

His clothes were full of dried blood and his face was pale. It almost looked as if he was dead, brutally killed by a monster, put to his final rest.

Dean sighed into the silence of the room.

He could hear the screaming from downstairs.

It was the Doctor.

The poor Time Lord was screaming like a madman, probably because, yes, taking out a bullet without anesthesia was something that could hurt. Dean and Sam were used to it because they couldn’t afford the luxury of going to a hospital when they had been shot, but the Doctor…The Doctor wasn’t used to it.

To be true, Dean was surprised that he was still conscious. It was probably the immense pain that kept him awake even if he didn’t want to.

Another scream was to be heard, pain filled and muffled, and something clattered as it fell to the floor. Someone cursed loudly.

The house was old and not sound proof, the walls thin. You could easily hear what someone said while being in one of the other rooms.

“Try to pin him down!” Sam yelled. “I can’t take it out when he’s moving!”

Dean’s body tensed up and he tried to block out the pain filled screams of the Doctor that followed Sam’s words.

It wasn’t easy.

It never was.

He tried to distract himself and so his eyes darted around to take in the room.

The room was surprisingly full with all kind of different things. An old bookshelf was placed behind the door. Two plates were missing and most of the books were stacked one above another. Comic books and magazines were scattered all over the room, carelessly thrown on the desk and the ground.

Apparently, Gabriel liked to read.

Peeled off wallpaper in green graced the walls but was mostly covered with posters of half naked women and men.

What a surprise.

The glass of the top right window was broken, and the frame was old and dust-covered. The light that came through the dirty glass was soft and warm.

Dean’s gaze wandered back to the bed. He didn’t like the bedcover. Too colorful and too many patterns.

Castiel’s eyes moved under his lids and Dean wondered what he was seeing.

Gabriel had said that he was alright…

But he wasn’t.

Hadn’t been in a long time.

Dean swallowed hard and reached out for Castiel’s right hand. His skin was smooth, almost like marble, which had to be some sort of side effect of his grace because Jimmy’s skin surely hadn’t been that soft.

“Sorry about being so grumpy…” Dean began, and he felt awkward. He had never been good at talking, especially about emotions.

He cleared his throat, a sound that was too loud for the quiet room.

Quiet.

The Doctor had stopped screaming.

Dean shuddered.

Hopefully he was alright.

“I didn’t know how to react…about the kiss, you know?” Talking to Cas made the silence bearable. Dean smiled slightly to himself and his stomach made this weird thing again. “I was caught by surprise. Never thought you would do something like that.”

The hunter sighed and leaned forward, his green eyes wandering over the pale face of the angel. A stubborn strand of dark hair had fallen over Castiel’s left eye. Dean hesitated for one moment but decided to push it back.

Castiel didn’t stir.

“Damn Cas, what’s wrong?” The hunter mumbled, worry showing on his face.

Of course Cas didn’t answer.

“It’s Lucifer, again…Isn’t it?”

The wooden floorboards creaked.

“What did Luci do this time?” Dean flinched slightly, even if the arrival of the archangel had been unmistakable.

The Hunter turned around to face the angel, who stood casually in the doorway to his room, his left side leaning against the door frame. His golden eyes were watchful as he eyed Dean with his brow furrowed in concern.

Dean noticed that his hands were full of blood. Gabriel seemed to have noticed that,too, because the blood disappeared in front of Dean’s eyes.

The Hunter sighed as he turned his head back to look at Castiel. “It was more Cas’ doing…”

It was true, wasn’t it? Cas had broken the wall, now Lucifer was inside Castiel’s head, so yes, yes it was Cas’ own fault, but even he couldn’t control what was happening inside his head, so no, maybe it wasn’t…

Whatever.

Dean heard Gabriel approaching the bed with careful steps, almost as if not to wake Cas. He didn’t turn around to face the archangel, again.

Gabriel didn’t seem to mind.

“I know.” Of course he did, he was a friggin’ archangel, of course he knew. “Who would have thought that he would end up here.”

Dean assumed he meant Castiel, not Lucifer.

The hunter’s shoulders straightened. “Can you heal him? Can you get rid of those…things inside his head?”

Lucifer, the nightmares, the memories of the dark days…

“No.” Gabriel’s voice was soft but absolutely certain.

Dean’s jaw clenched visibly and his eyes darted to the side of the bed to look at the angel. “You didn’t even try!” He hissed angrily. “How can you be so sure about it if you haven’t even tried anything yet!?”

The archangel clicked his tongue.

“I don’t have to try to know what I am capable of, and what not.” Was Gabriel’s simple reply.

Dean couldn’t hide his anger any longer; he turned around, ready to yell at the archangel, because for God’s fucking sake this was his brother and he should at least try to help him with the burden he was carrying, but all his words died down as he saw how tired Gabriel looked.

Maybe a change of topic would be good for both of them.

“How’s the Doc?” Dean asked, his voice rough. He cleared his throat.

Gabriel took a deep breath through his nose, not looking at Dean but at Castiel. “He’ll live, I guess. We almost lost him, though. That was a pretty nasty bullet wound, close to the carotid artery. He lost a lot of blood.”

Didn’t sound very good.

_At least he is alive…_

“But…” Dean shifted on the bed. “Why don’t you heal him now? You know, angel mojo him some blood into the body.”

Gabriel smiled sadly. “Not that easy, kiddo. He’s no human, and something is blocking my attempts to heal him.” His gaze darkened. “Something is definitely not right with that guy…It’s almost as if his time is running backwards…”

Gabriel stared ahead, lost in his thoughts.

Dean cleared his throat, again.

“So…”

Gabriel’s golden eyes turned to look at Dean. Somehow the archangel was reminding Dean of a fox, smart as he was and with this crooked grin that he used to wear. Though, now he looked more exhausted than cheeky.

“We are basically stuck here. Cas is out cold and we have no clue when he wakes up…” He paused.

_If he wakes up…_

“And the Doc is wounded, which is bad, because we need him to find his past-self, which is currently somewhere at the Master’s side. The TARDIS is who knows where. And basically we have no clue what to do.” The hunter rubbed his forehead. “Furthermore, the Doc’s time is running out because apparently the time of his past self is catching up with his current self..or…whatever.”

Dean still didn’t know how the whole regeneration thing worked, but it seemed that Ten should have regenerated into Eleven a long time ago, and now Eleven turned back into Ten…or…re-regenerated. If that was even possible…What it seemed to be.

“Awesome. Great.”

Gabriel’s eyes were still on Dean. He hummed thoughtfully, his fingers drumming onto the wooden frame of the bed.

“It is true.” He admitted. “Time is running out. But for now you should take a nap. Days always look better after a good nap…” The angel paused, his brow furrowed. “Not that I would know, but that’s what Sherlock always says.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, almost as if to say; Sherlock, really?

Gabriel smiled slightly. “It’s okay, Deanny-o. I’ll watch over Cassie. Or…” He paused, his eyes darting from Dean to Cas and back. “You stay here. I’ll tell Sam.”

Dean opened his mouth to argue, because obviously he wouldn’t sleep here with Cas, but Gabriel just silenced him by putting a finger onto his own lips. “Shhh, shut your cakehole.”

With that he was gone and Dean was left alone with Cas, once again.

That bastard.

“Well, so it’s just us two again, huh…”

…

Dean couldn’t remember falling asleep, but he could remember waking up next to another warm body.

First he was confused, because who was lying next to him? Surely not Sammy, because Sammy was fucking tall and his long hair was unmistakable.

Dean’s eyes fluttered open, just to look straight at Castiel, who lay unmoving on his back next to Dean.

His first reaction was to sit up immediately.

He still had clothes on, both of them, good.

Then he remembered, and his relief died down.

“Cas? Hey, Cas.” Dean leaned forward, his hand outstretched to touch Castiel’s shoulder. “Cas?” He asked, carefully.

The angel didn’t react, his eyes still closed and his face expressionless. Dean’s stomach clenched and he felt worry gnawing at him.

The day was bright. Sunlight was streaming through the open window.

Who had opened it?

Muffled voices could be heard from downstairs. Plates clattered against each other. Breakfast, Dean assumed.

A quick glance at his wristwatch told him that it was about ten o’clock in the morning.

He hadn’t slept that long for years. Usually the whole going to bed and waking up process was depending on how long the hunt had lasted, so usually they didn’t get too much sleep. They could count themselves lucky if they managed to get a good five hours sleep in a real bed, not on the seats of the Impala. Though, Dean didn’t mind sleeping inside his baby.

_Okay, that was definitely gross.._

He should really watch his choice of words…Or thoughts.

Dean gave Cas a quick glance, but the angel was still unconscious. “I’ll be back.” Dean promised. He had to eat something because his stomach growled with hunger.

Not that he felt like eating something…

The old wood creaked under his shoes as he walked along the small corridor of the upper floor. The doors to the other rooms were all closed and the light in the hallway was dim due the lack of windows. Dean wondered why he had slept with his shoes on, but that was probably because he hadn’t noticed falling asleep in the first place.

The noise grew louder as he walked down the small rickety stairway.

“No milk? Again? Honestly, I got milk - _yesterday_!”

“Well, that happens.”

“It happens all the time, Sherlock! What are you even _doing_ with all that milk?!”

“Do I really need to explain …?”

Dean entered the kitchen, and eyebrow raised at the arguing pair.

“Oh, good morning, Dean.” Sherlock greeted him. Dean was still not used to see him smile. Sam made a grimace and leaned back in his chair, clearly pissed.

“How about some breakfast?” The detective gestured towards the fridge. “We don’t have much but it should be enough to fill your stomach.”

Sam grunted but said nothing.

There was, indeed, not much. Jam, a few vegetables, cheese,…things…

Dean sighed and closed the door of the fridge. “What about coffee?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes at that. “We don’t have coffee.” He said that as if it was obvious.

Dean shrugged his shoulders. “Okay…”

“There are cereals in the cupboard.” Sam pointed out, taking a sip from his mug of tea. “But we have no milk.” At that he gave Sherlock an angry glare.

“That’s okay, I’ll eat ‘em dry.” Honestly, he didn’t mind eating cereals without milk. There were worse things.

“Bowls are right next to them.”

Well, yeah, Dean could see that. “They are not…”

Sam groaned and placed his cup onto the table with a little too much force. “Honestly?! Sherlock? Honestly?!”

Sherlock didn’t even say anything, he just turned his attention back to the book in his hands.

“You had one job!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Dean was sure that Sam had to hold himself back so he wouldn’t throw his cup against Sherlock’s head.

“Nevermind that. I’ll take the box.” That didn’t make Sam any happier.

They sat there in awkward silence, and Dean felt like he should become used to it.

He silently ate his cereals, his eyes roaming around.

The kitchen was small and the floor was tiled with black and white tiles, some of the cracked or even missing. There were two windows, big enough to let in the sunlight from outside. There were curtains, too, but they seemed to serve no purpose. They didn’t even look beautiful, more like tattered bed sheet that had been hung randomly next to the windows. Several cupboards hung at the walls, all painted with an ugly greenish grey color, which really didn’t fit the dark red of the wall. All in all, the kitchen looked as if it had been decorated by someone who had been either drunk or too lazy to care.

Dean wondered why no one seemed to care about the condition of the house, but maybe it was because it was just a safe house. Maybe they hadn’t been here for long. Maybe there had been no time to redecorate. Dean was sure that Gabriel could upgrade the house with his angel mojo, but maybe he wasn’t allowed to? Surely someone would notice, especially the demons…

The hunter sighed and ate another handful of tasteless cereals. It was like eating cardboard.

“Where is your wife?” Dean asked,his mouth full of cereals and his eyes on Sam.

His brother blinked in confusion, then he understood and grimaced, annoyed by his brother and his cheeky comments. It was his typical bitch face that he made. “Out. Someone has to make sure that everything’s alright.”

Dean nodded. “Any news about the TARDIS?”

Sam pressed his lips together, shaking his head. “No. Nothing. In fact it is a bit too quiet…”

Not good.

Dean stared into the box of cereals. Somewhere outside a few birds were chirping. Sherlock carefully turned a page of his book. Sam sipped at his tea and swallowed noisily.

“Soooo…”Dean looked up since looking into a box of cereals revealed nothing world changing anyway. “Shouldn’t we…you know, do something? Like, planning how to get Ten back? Or the TARDIS? Or how to defeat the Master?”

Sam took another sip from his cup, almost as if to drag out the moment, then he pursed his lips the way he always did when Dean said something stupid.

Stupid in Sam’s opinion.

“Take a guess, Dean.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Why me?”

Sam sighed and placed the cup on the table. “Because we are out of good ideas. We worked on this for almost six years and we still don’t have a solution.”

Sherlock cleared his throat and closed his book.”Yes, that is correct, but now we have the Doctor.” He nodded towards Dean. “And your brother, as well as the angel.”

Sam grunted and leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed in front of his chest. He looked tired. “True. But that won’t change anything.”

Wow, his brother had really changed into someone who was always looking at the bright side of life.

Awesome.

“You don’t know that.” Dean disagreed.

Sam snorted and threw a strand of hair back, which had stubbornly made its way towards his face. “Yes I do.” He replied with that certain bitchy tone in his voice. “The Doctor is of no help right now. He is barely conscious, how is he supposed to help us?”

“Well…” A voice rasped from the doorway. “I think…I am conscious…enough.” Each word was forced out and seemed to take a lot of effort.

They turned around to see the Doctor standing in the doorway. Well, leaning against the door frame trying not to double over was a better way to put it.

He was deathly pale but a small grin was on his colorless lips. His eyes looked tired and glassy, and Dean was sure he was running a high fever, but the good man seemed to refuse to notice that.

He wore one of Sam’s black sweaters, like Dean had used to when he had been sick. It was too big for the Doctor, and he looked like a twelve years old boy who had stayed home from school because he was sick with the flu.

“You are in no condition to be out of bed.” Sherlock remarked, though he didn’t sound as if he was angry about the fact that the Doctor was out of said bed.

The Doctor grinned but winced in pain. He tried to hide it, though, but Dean had seen it. “I was…bored..”

That made Sherlock smile.

The Doctor tried to take a step forwards but he swayed dangerously, almost losing his balance.

Dean and Sam both stood up at the same time, though it was only Dean who rushed to the Doctor’s side. “Hey man, you gotta take it easy.”

The Doctor smiled. “Yes…I figured that out…”

Dean grinned but stopped when he noticed that the Doctor was shaking. “Best is you lie down again.”

The Doctor sighed shakily but nodded, which seemed to hurt his head because he winced. “Ah…Is that how…you humans feel when you are… sick with the flu?” He sounded almost curious.

“Well, not exactly, but yeah…” Though usually a great amount of blood loss was not involved.

“We can’t bring you back upstairs.” Sam said as he joined Dean at the Doctor’s side, carefully sliding one arm around the Doctor’s shoulders to keep him steady. It was a weird sight because Sam had to crouch down a bit so he wouldn’t lift the Doctor off the floor. “Not good for you right now. So best is you lie down on the sofa.”

The Doctor just nodded carefully.

They managed a few steps before the Doctor’s legs gave away.

“Oh, you really lost some blood, huh?” Dean asked and tried to lighten up the situation, though of course he failed.

“Seems so.” The Doctor mumbled, surprised by how weak his body was. He didn’t seem used to it.

“Don’t you have some groovy …alien mojo?” Dean wanted to know.

The Doctor inhaled deeply as if to calm himself. “Yes, yes I…I normally do…” He furrowed his sweaty brow. “Doesn’t…ah…seem to work very well …” He sounded frustrated, almost as if he couldn’t understand the failure of his body.

“I’ll make some tea.” Sherlock announced.

The Doctor smiled thankfully. “Yes…That would be great…”

They managed to get the Time Lord to the sofa, where he sat down carefully. He winced, his face even paler than before.

“I’ll go and get a blanket.”Sam said and was out of the room.

Dean didn’t want to leave the Doctor all alone because he knew that it sucked to be alone when you feel ill, so he sat down on the floor next to the sofa.

“You can sit here…” The Doctor said, patting the space next to him, amused that Dean would sit down on the floor instead onto the sofa.

“Nah.” Dean waved off. “You better lie down. I am good here.”

The Doctor hummed thoughtfully as he carefully lay down onto the rough material of the sofa, using his hands as a pillow.

“What happened anyway?” Dean asked.

The Doctor lay on his side, facing Dean. He blinked. “I don’t really know…” He answered slowly. “The only thing that I remember…is being shot. We were close to the..TARDIS…” A lugubrious expression crossed his face before his facial features became soft again.”Didn’t Castiel tell you?”

Dean swallowed and shook his head. “Nah..there had been no time…”

The Doctor’s face became worried. “He is alright, isn’t he?”

Dean sighed, his gaze somewhere on the floor. “Yeah.”

Dean could see out of the corner of his eyes that the Time Lord was smiling sadly, guilt written all over his pale face. “Dean, I am sorry…”

Dean sighed and looked up to meet the Doctor’s gaze. His eyes were half-lidded and he looked incredible tired. “It isn’t your fault.” And it really wasn’t, at least that was what Dean assumed. “It’s more a…” He trailed off and gestured towards his head. “Mental thing…that comes and goes.”

_Nice way of saying that Lucifer is fucking with Cas’ mind._

That was when Sam came through the door, a checkered blanket draped over his arm.

“Here you go.” He said, throwing the blanket over the Doctor’s body. The Doctor nodded thankfully. It seemed that he didn’t feel like talking anymore.

Sam soon left the room again, probably to return to the kitchen to make sure that Sherlock didn’t burn anything. Dean, however, chose to stay with the Doctor. Cas was unconscious anyway, and he really felt like he owned the Doc some company.

His thoughts wandered back to the last time Cas had been unconscious, and a bad feeling developed inside his stomach. But he couldn’t simply go now…

The Doctor eyed him with curious eyes, though it seemed to take him some effort to hold them open. His breath was heavy and his pupils blown.

Dean wondered _how much_ blood he had lost.

“You can go to him.” The Doctor suddenly said, his voice gentle and understanding. “I don’t mind…” Dean almost thought he would add something, but the Doctor said nothing else.

Dean made no move, and the Doctor sighed. “You stubborn human…” He muttered more to himself than to Dean. Dean grinned, leaning back onto his hands.

The Time Lord closed his eyes, his breath even but heavy. He looked so young but so old at the same time…

Suddenly Dean wondered what this man had seen, how old he really was, what he had endured…

“Do you have family?” The question was blunt and sudden.

Usually Dean didn’t like small talk, and talking to almost strangers about personal shit was never easy, except if they were part of a case.

The Doctor’s eyes didn’t open as he answered. “I had.” His voice was strangely emotionless. Dean assumed he didn’t like talking about the topic, and so he didn’t ask again.

It was a few minutes later that the Doctor opened his eyes again. “What about you?” His voice was much gentler now, curious.

Dean shrugged his shoulders. “Sammy and me, that’s all who’s left.” And it pained, every time, when realization hit him. Just him and Sammy. Just them both. Carrying on, doing the business…

You think one day the pain would lessen, one day it wouldn’t hurt to think back at the family that once had been, but it never stopped hurting.

They both were silent now, watching the sunlight dancing over the wooden floor.

The atmosphere was strangely cold now and Dean felt sorry for bringing up the topic family. He should have know that this wouldn’t be a good idea…

“Well, you have fun.” Sherlock snorted as he put the cup of tea on the floor next to the sofa where it was in reach for the Doctor.

The Time Lord sat up, carefully taking the cup into both hands. He was shaking quite badly, almost spilling the tea over the floor and his hands.

“Well, we tried…” The Doctor smiled, but it was a tired and forced smile.

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. “I never said you have to have fun,right?” The Doctor smiled and Dean only grunted in response. Sherlock and his wise words…

Suddenly a loud bang was heard. The front door had been kicked open, and Dean expected demons, but it was Gabriel who entered the house.

Gabriel, who looked rather …not happy.

“Gabriel, the door!” Sherlock huffed reproachfully, clearly not happy that the archangel wouldn’t use the door handle.

“Not now, human!” Gabriel spat, looking around until his eyes settled onto the curious face of the Doctor. “You. They are searching for you,all over the city!”

The Doctor blinked slowly, his fingers tightening around the red porcelain mug. “That was…predictable, wasn’t it?” His voice was slow and calm, though his tense body betrayed him.

“Of course it was!” Gabriel replied angrily. “But still…I hoped we would have more time to…deal with the current situation.” With the injury.

The Doctor nodded shakily, and suddenly all color left his face.

“Oh.”

The cup hit the floor as the Doctor’s fingers loosened around it, his eyes wide.

“Fuck, Doc!” Dean jumped up, but Sherlock was already at the Doctor’s side.

Gabriel hissed. “Damn it!”

“What?! What!” Dean looked from Sherlock to Gabriel, then to Sam who now stood in the doorway.

The Doctor made a pained grimace, his hands clenching into fists as a spasm rocked his weak body.

“One heart stopped beating.” Gabriel turned around to Dean.

“One?” Dean asked, perplexed. Usually you just have _one_ heart, right?

“Yeah, he has two, chucklehead!”

_Well, okay, right, alien Doc, two hearts, of course._

“How can you…argh…” The Doctor gasped for air. “One heart, that is…ah…pitiful!”

Gabriel tried to calm the Doctor while Sam and Sherlock joined him. Dean felt a bit useless watching them. “You have to stay calm!” Sam snapped, urging to Doctor to lie back down.

“Oh, sure!” The Doctor wheezed. “Because…ah! It’s just one of my hearts…ah…that failed! Nothing _vital_ at all!”

Gabriel rolled his eyes as he leaned back to look down onto the Doctor. “Stop whining, you moron! Your body is _still working_ , so one heart seems to _work fine_ for _you!_ ”

Dean just nodded. “Yeah, we all have just one heart…” He just tried to add _something_. “…and we are still alive…”

_Great Dean, wow, you’re so smart.._

The Doctor managed a disdainful but breathless laughter. “Yeah, because you are _humans_!”

Gabriel cleared his throat at that. “Not quiet.”

The Doctor just snorted but stopped as another spasm took hold of him. The Time Lord pressed his lips together, trying not to scream.

“What is happening?” A calm but rough voice asked from the doorway.

Dean’s head spun around as he heard the familiar voice. “Cas!”

The angel stood tall, his blue eyes scanning the room and taking in the scene. He looked pale, his hair was ruffled, but he seemed to be fine.

“Are you alright?” Dean asked.

The angel took his place next to the hunter and nodded quickly. It was a lie, of course, but the lie was okay for now.

Now, that they had a different situation to worry about.

The Doctor groaned again, a faint shimmer of golden light glowing around him.

“C’mon!” Sam slapped the Doctor’s cheek. “Stay with us!” The Doctor just smiled helplessly, then his eyes turned back and he was unconscious, his body still twitching.

“Damn it!” Gabriel cursed, trying to get some air into the Doctor’s lungs.

Everything happened fast now, like during an autopilot setting, and Dean and Cas watched silently as the others fought for the Doc’s life.

It didn’t take long to stabilize him again, but it felt like an eternality.

The Doctor’s breath was labored and his lips were slightly parted, his pale face dripping with sweat. They had wrapped him into the blanket, so all you could see was his head. The strange glow was still around him but didn’t seem to affect him much. Though, Dean had the feeling that this was a sign that Eleven’s time was running out…

Literally.

Sam sighed deeply as he sat down in front to the sofa, his back leaning against said sofa. Gabriel sat down next to him, cross-legged, eyeing the Winchester with curious eyes.

Sherlock, however, decided to stand. “Still just one heart working…”The detective mumbled, his light eyes on the face of the Time Lord. Dean was sure he could see worry in those blue eyes.

“That was close.” Sam muttered, running a hand through his hair. His face was grim.

Gabriel rocked his head from side to side, humming softly. “Nah. It looked worse than it was…” His golden eyes darted to Castiel. “Hey, bro.” He greeted the other angel. “Feeling better now?”

Castiel nodded, though he wasn’t really looking at Gabriel. The angel’s blue eyes were restless and his body stiff.

 _He looks uncomfortable_ , Dean realized as he eyed Cas out of the corner of his eyes. Castiel noticed his gaze and began to stare back at him. His gaze was as intense as ever, though his face was calm.

Gabriel smiled and leaned back against the sofa, his eyes closed.

“Well…”Sherlock began, sounding as if he was not really affected by what just had happened. “That I call a nice start of the day.”

“I beg to differ.” Gabriel grumbled and opened his eyes again. “Anyway, there is something you should see.”

They returned into the kitchen so they wouldn’t bother the unconscious Time Lord. Rest was probably the best thing he could get right now.

Dean, Sam and Gabriel sat down at the table while Castiel and Sherlock chose to stand close to them. Sherlock leaned back against the counter, his arms crossed in front of his chest, his watchful eyes on the small black ball of steel that Gabriel held in his hands.

“What’s that?” Dean wanted to know, leaning in closer to examine the weird ball. It was as big as a closed fist of an adult man and had small speakers at the side. The surface was smooth and without scratches.

“Notes.” Sherlock answered. “The Master uses them if he has major news for the population of the city.”

Dean furrowed his brow and leaned back again. “Why isn’t he using the radio or the TV to communicate with others?”

Gabriel took a bit of the chocolate bar, which seemed to have magically appeared in his free hand, though Dean was sure the archangel had stored it in one of the pockets of his jacket because right now the whole angel mojo thing didn’t seem to work so well anymore.

“Because not everyone has a radio or TV.” Sam answered without looking at Dean, his eyes fixed on the black ball. “And he likes attention…”

Gabriel put the ball onto the table where it stayed without moving an inch.

“What does it say, then?” Dean asked, looking at the others with a questioning expression on his face.

“Well, take a guess…” Gabriel sighed, his expression grim. He leaned forward and touched the ball at the side.

The small thing began to light up, glowing from the inside. A soft orange light lit up the room as the Master’s voice began to speak.

_“Hello, Doctor. Nice to know that you have decided to visit me. Well, I am a bit angry about the fact that you ran away from me and my friends, but hey, I know you are here._

_Let’s come to the important things, shall we?”_

_“I know that you are dying. Not dying as in really dying, but I assume you know what I mean, don’t you?”_ The Master chuckled _._

 _“Why don’t we have a talk?”_ His voice was all serious again, sending a shiver down Dean’s spine. _“Why don’t you pay me a visit? I know your time is limited, so I would say…Hm…Today, eight pm. Sounds good? I don’t take no as an answer, and this might be your only chance of staying who you are…”_ The his voice changed. He said something, really fast and low, in that language that neither Dean nor the angels could understand.

The light inside the ball died down as the Master’s voice stopped.


	19. Please...Don't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time's running out

**Chapter 18**

His head did hurt. Actually, everything did hurt.

The missing heart beat of his left heart was like a missing part of himself.

Like a hole in his chest.

It felt weird, having just one heart, while the other felt like a dead weight trying to pull him down, like a stone inside his chest trying to crush his lung.

The bullet wound did hurt, but he was too dazed to feel the pain; it was more like a steady pulse of pain somewhere in the back of his awareness.

He was awake, listening to the hushed voices from the kitchen. The Time Lords eyes were firmly fixed on the window, the light from outside was warm and bright, almost reaching the sofa.

Dust was dancing in the light front of his eyes.

He felt cold, his blood running through his veins like burning cold ice.

"He can't go there." Someone said. It was Dean. "Look at him! He'll drop dead as soon as we arrive there! If he even survives the ride.."

The Doctor took a deep and shuddering breath. He knew what they were talking about. He had heard what the Master had said.

"We have no other choice, do we?" Sam uttered. "He can't stay here. It'll kill him. And trying to get him inside his TARDIS, which is most likely somewhere near the Master, might be his only hope of surviving."

They were quiet for a few minutes, probably thinking about Sam's words.

A bird was chirping near the window. A few bees buzzed through the air. A car drove past the house.

Somewhere in the room a clock was ticking loudly.

His own single heart was beating fast, trying to manage the work of the other heart. It was painful.

The Time Lord could hear his own pulse, too slow but yet faster than a humans.

His breath was too loud and heavy, rattling inside his chest.

He felt sick.

"We should ask him what he thinks." Gabriel suggested. "It's his life, right? So he should be able to choose."

Bitter laughter was heard. "He will insist on going."

Of course he would.

Silence again.

A dog bellowed. Another car drove past. The bird was still near the window.

The clock was incredibly loud.

He felt hot and cool at the same time. And his throat was dry.

He tried to move but was too tried.

"Maybe we will be able to come up with a plan." Sherlock said with his deep voice. The word _maybe_ hung heavy in the air. They all knew that there was not enough time to outsmart the Master.

He had probably already planned everything.

Of course he had. He was the Master after all.

The Doctor tried to take a deep breath but his chest was heavy and his single heart almost skipped a beat.

The pain dazed him.

Everything was too bright and too slow, time was not moving and yet his was running out...

He lay there, unmoving, and listened to the noises of the house, watching the dust in the sunlight...

The floor boards creaked, the clock ticked,...

Eventually he fell asleep.

He awoke a few hours later. It had to be late afternoon, judging by the altitude of the sun. He blinked a few times, trying to get used to the bright light from outside.

Someone was talking, somewhere upstairs in the room above him. However, the voices were too low to understand the words.

The Doctor tried to sit up, his arms shaking with the effort of holding his own weight, and he cursed his weak body. He should have healed, should have _regenerated_ , long time ago but something was holding him off. He felt betrayed by his own body, as if it was working against him.

Though, maybe it was good that he wasn't regenerating, because he wouldn't make it, not without being near his TARDIS, and anyway, who would want a new body just now, he had barely grown used to this one and another new one would only annoy him to no end.

Also he didn't want to die, not yet, not him, not _Eleven_.

He might be tried, but he didn't desire to die.

And regeneration meant death, for _him_ , not for _the Doctor_.

He was just a small part of the puzzle that _made_ the Doctor, just the _eleventh piece_ of the mosaic...

You don't know, how if feels, to be _someone else_ but still _the same_.

When they see you, and call you _the Doctor_ , and remember someone else that you _once have been_.

The constant fear that you will never be good enough, not like the others, not like _those before_ you...

And then there are the companions, those new companions who never even knew who once as been there... and the former companions , the lucky, lucky ones who have survived the trip, those either see your former self behind the new face or forget it completely after _seeing_ the new face...

And, the worst thing is to be _forgotten_.

To be swallowed by the mass, by the other pieces, by the name _the Doctor_...

You are just a piece of one great thing and you will be forgotten and only the name remains...

But your face...

YOUR face...

They barely remember it, it's always just _the name_.

Now it looked like he was about to get killed by the Master, by himself, because he was slowly turning back into someone he _once had been_...

Would that be like reviving his old self?

Like trying to force a soul back to life?

Wouldn't that mean he would be someone else altogether?

The Doctor's stomach crunched with fear.

_Oh Master...You idiot._

"You are awake, I see." Slowly the Doctor's eyes moved to his right; Sherlock walked into the room, his expression curious but cautious. His cat like eyes shone bright in the sunlight.

The detective sat down on the sofa next to the Time Lord, and without asking he took one of the Doctor's hands.

He frowned, worry visible in his cold eyes. The Doctor assumed that his body temperature was either too high or too low, he couldn't tell. He felt incredible cold, yet he was sweating.

"You aren't any better..." Sherlock mumbled. The Doctor was sure he was talking to himself.

"I tried..." He winced at his own voice, which was too low and sounding rough. "But... uhm, my body doesn't seem to...well, cooperate..."

Also talking was incredibly exhausting...

Sherlock smiled, a gesture he used in order to comfort the Doctor. "I noticed."

The detective let go of the Time Lord's hand and sighed. The Doctor eyed him, expecting him to tell him about the plan. However, Sherlock didn't start talking, almost as if he wasn't comfortable with the situation.

"I heard ...ahm...what you said." The Time Lord said, eventually. "In the kitchen..."

Sherlock nodded, his face grim. "I thought so." His expression was thoughtful, his gaze directed at the window.

"Um...and?"

Sherlock sighed again, leaning back against the sofa. "It is up to you."

The Doctor nodded carefully and winced as a stab of pain pierced through his head.

"I assume you want to go?"

The Doctor nodded again.

Sherlock shook his head, his hands pressed against each other palm to palm. "Your condition has worsened, you are barely able to sit upright, let alone walk." His eyes turned to look at the Doctor. "Do you really think that is a good idea?"

It wasn't. Everyone knew that. But it was their only option.

"Uh...I die if I don't go..." He tried to grin but it was more a grimace than anything else.

He, his eleventh personality, would die either way, there was no way he would manage to fix that, but at least he wanted to die looking his long lost _best friend lover enemy_ in the eyes. He wouldn't go down without a fight.

He wondered if he would really die, this personality of his, extinguished from existence, or if he would simply turn back to his old self and regenerate later back to this personality...

Though, he doubted it; every regeneration was different, had a different _cause_...

He could just hope, but then again, his _appearance_ might be the same, his _mind_ wouldn't be.

Not after what had already happened.

_What a mess..._

"You are too proud." Sherlock said gently, still eyeing the Doctor with sympathy in his eyes. He didn't judge him, it was merely a comment.

But , then again, Sherlock Holmes never failed to deduce a personality..

The Doctor smiled. "Ahh,yes... lot of people have said that before..."

_Oh so many.._

"I want to go alone." He said, bluntly, not looking at Sherlock because he feared his reaction, knew how he would react. Instead he looked down at his hands.

He didn't want anyone in danger because of his own stupidity, not again, never again.

Just him and the Master.

He would manage it.

Somehow.

Sherlock huffed a laughter. It sounded more bemused than shocked. "I knew you would say that, too."

The Doctor looked up from the hands in his lap. "And?"

Sherlock smiled again, his eyes kind. They were glowing in the light from outside, his eyes, his pale skin looking like marble framed by locks of dark hair. "You have to be stupid if you really think we would allow that."

Of course...

"Anyway..." Sherlock looked back to the window. "...you wouldn't be able to move anywhere without our help."

That, of course, was true.

"It will be dangerous..." The Doctor warned, a half hearted attempt to stop Sherlock and the others from joining him.

Sherlock smirked like a cat. "Well, I am always looking forward to a spontaneous adventure."

...

The wind was pleasant, the streets not empty but also not crowded. It was a warm summer night, too beautiful for what was about to happen.

Castiel's eyes were fixed on the big building in front of them; it was tall, reaching into the sky like a skinny arm made of glass and steal. To Castiel it looked like a sharp diamond, and even the soft orange light that shone from the inside of the building couldn't brush off the shadow that seemed to hover over the building like a warning sign.

Something was inside this building, something strong, something evil...

And it weren't the demons.

Gabriel could feel it too, Castiel saw it at the way his brother furrowed his brow and tightened his lips. His golden wings, only four left, were stretched out wide to his sides, almost as if to intimidate the invisible enemy.

They were beautiful, those wings, made of pure golden Grace, and every feather seemed to be made of velvet coated with glass made of light. It was hard to describe, but that was how Castiel would describe it to a human.

Gabriel's real form was barely visible inside his vessel, just a faint soft glow of golden light around the human body. He had learned to hide himself well...Castiel was sure that he himself was visible across the whole street, at least for angel eyes.

Castiel's eyes darted to his left side where the Doctor was held upright by Sam Winchester.

The Time Lord was more dead than alive, the gear wheels of his soul close to having stopped moving, his soul just a faint shimmer flickering under the pressure of his former soul, which tried to force its way back to the surface.

He was pale, his lips a soft blue and his skin almost translucent, his veins visible under the paper thin skin, and even watching him trying to breathe was painful.

If he would die, if the eleventh persona would fade, they would, too.

Everything would collapse, there would be a rift in time, because people would have never met him, things would never happen, things that were supposed to be would never be.

The Master was either stupid or a risk taker.

"He looks miserable, poor thing." Lucifer remarked, his watchful eyes wandering from the tall building to the Doctor. "I can practically see Death looming over him."

It was true, though. Castiel could see it,too. And everybody else could probably see it as well. Even the Doctor knew that there was no time left.

They had to hurry.

Castiel's gaze settled on Dean, who looked up to the tall building, his brow furrowed. He was probably deep in thoughts.

 _"We have to kill him, don't we_. _"_ Dean had asked while they had been in the kitchen _. "Ten, I mean. So Eleven won't die."_

They all had been silent, but of course they had known the answer.

Yes, they had to kill a friend so another friend would survive.

So they _all_ would survive.

 _"You think he will forgive us?"_ Dean had asked, just before they were about to leave the house. They had been standing on the porch, waiting for the others.

 _"For killing him?"_ Castiel had asked in return, not looking at Dean but at the buildings in the distance. _"I do not know...But I assume he will understand."_

Because, how could you forgive someone for killing you if you knew it had to be this way, even if you wanted nothing more than to live?

 _"Understand..."_ Dean had mumbled, clearly not happy about the whole situation. He had been looking at Castiel all the time during their talk.

 _"You cannot simply ask someone to forgive you for something that cannot be forgiven."_ Castiel had sighed as he turned his head towards Dean. _"But you can at least ask them to understand."_

"The Plan is stupid."

Sherlock suddenly said, his hands in the pockets of his long coat, which now looked rather well worn and old. His blue scarf was missing, though, and it was an odd sight because it felt like something important was missing, not just a piece of clothing.

"No shit, Sherlock!" Dean grumbled, and Sam gave his brother an angry glance.

Another reference that Castiel didn't understand.

"What?!" Dean snapped, after adding with a bashful undertone, "I've wanted to say that the whole time..."

"We don't have time for that now!" Sam rolled his eyes and nodded towards the building. "He is waiting. It's almost time." He gave everyone a quick glance. "You know what to do. Good luck."

Their steps echoed through the entrance hall. It was surprisingly empty in the building.

Two demons stood behind the reception desk, watching them warily as they made their way towards the elevator.

"He is waiting for you in his living room. " One of the two demons, a woman with brown hair and round face, said. Her voice was nasal and flat. "Third floor. You will find it without any help."

Castiel could see Dean's hands twitch as he tried to remain calm, and knew that Dean wanted nothing more than to kill those demons, but he didn't. He couldn't, not when they were in a building full of demons, not when the Master was waiting for them.

The ride in the elevator was awkward and silent. Everyone was busy with their own thoughts and no one dared to break the silence. There were mirrors at each wall and all Castiel could see was their reflections. And Lucifer, staring right back at him with his wide grin. His hand was resting on Castiel's shoulder as he leaned towards him. "Let's get the party started."

Castiel tried to ignore his brother, but he couldn't help the shiver that ran down his spine.

Dean must have noticed something because he gave Castiel a quick questioning gaze. He was worried, even if it wasn't showing on his face, and Castiel felt bad because no one should worry about him, not right now, and especially not Dean.

The angel bit his lip, his eyes darting around until he looked up to find a camera staring back at him. His eyes narrowed as he pursed his lips, and he was sure that the Master was watching them, chuckling.

The doors of the elevator opened with a soft 'pling' and they step outside.

The room, the hall, was big. It was mostly held in warm colors, and there was more gold than humans would normally put in their home. Though, the Master was no human, right?

A big screen graced the wall to their left, and Dean whistled in awe. "Home theater."

In front of them was a big window, a whole glass wall. The sunlight of the setting sun was warm and bathed the room in golden light and dark shadows.

The floor was made of black marble slabs which reflected the light, and dark marble pillars were lined up along the walls.

Castiel assumed that the Master hadn't been able to decide whatever he wanted something new and modern or old and ancient...

The heavy breathing of the Doctor was the only sound to fill the silence as they stood in the middle of what the Master called his living room.

Castiel's eyes wandered around, taking in every single detail; the big red sofa, the armchairs next to the sofa, the bookshelves which stood next to each pillar, the wine cabinet, the fire place...

The TARDIS...

Castiel swallowed hard as he saw the blue box in the corner of the room.

This certainly made things more difficult...

Though, the old TARDIS, the one that had brought them here, was still no where to be seen.

So there was still hope...

"I see you made the right decision." The voice cut through the air like a knife.

Their heads turned around to face the Master, who now entered the room. He looked pleased with himself, wearing a neat new suit in black and a wide grin on his face. His hair was smooth to the side and had lost its crazy style, and his eyes were dark and dangerous. He was even shaved.

Though, it was not the Master who attracted their attention.

It was the Doctor, Ten, who had all eyes on him.

The man looked different even though he had barely changed at all.

His skin seemed to be made of marble, like most of the room itself, and his eyes, which had always been big, seemed impossible dark and too big for his thin face.

 _He looks like a doll_ , Castiel realized. _Like a piece of furniture that belongs to the room..._

Ten's eyes roamed over them, no emotions visible in them, but they stopped as they reached Eleven's face. There was still no emotion visible on the pale face as Ten turned to the Master and whispered something into his ear, his dead eyes not leaving Eleven's face.

The Master's eyes darted towards Eleven, who met his gaze with stubborn determination, and the blond Time Lord wrinkled his nose before he turned to whisper something back.

The other Time Lord nodded briefly before his eyes turned back to look at them as if they were nothing, as if they were pieces of furniture which had no further meaning to him.

Castiel couldn't shake off the feeling that something was wrong. It was visible, of course,but there was this feeling...

Castiel narrowed his eyes, trying to see under the layer of skin and soul, and then it hit him; this wasn't the Doctor. Not anymore, not fully. He must have made a sound because Dean gave him another questioning glance.

"This is not the Doctor..." Castiel began, slowly, his eyes not leaving the...thing...in front of them.

The Master made a grimace as he walked towards the big sofa, followed by the dark haired man who looked like the Doctor. "That's rude! Don't say that!"

The blond Time Lord fell down onto the sofa, leaning back against the red fabric, his dark eyes narrowed. "He's a bit different, I agree, but he is totally himself, right?"

Ten sat down next to the Master, too close, closer than he normally would, his dark eyes large as he nodded. The Master grinned, pleased with everything, and threw an arm around the Doctor's slim shoulders.

"No..."Castiel shook his head, his voice grave as he spoke again. "That is not the Doctor."

The Master snorted, angry now. "Shut up, you stupid poultry! It's him, it's him!" His thin lips turned into a smirk, though his eyes were dark. "Almost.."

Dean's hands balled into fists and he took a step forward, but Castiel held him back. "Dean, no."

Dean grumbled something but unclenched his hands.

"What do you see?" Sherlock, who had one arm thrown around Eleven's waist, looked over to meet Castiel's gaze.

"Fire." Castiel answered, turning back to face Ten. The Time Lord was calm, his dead eyes watching him without any interest in them. "All I see is fire."

Dean's brow furrowed as he looked from Castiel to Ten and back again. "Fire...?"

The angel nodded patiently. It was, indeed, all he could see. The soul was burning, was consumed by the bright red flames of...

"Okay." The Master sighed dramatically. "You are right. He's not quite himself anymore, but I can assure you that I did almost nothing to achieve this state! It was always there, hidden, and all I did was to unlock it..."

"What does that mean!" It was Sherlock who asked, not Dean; the detective's eyes were glowing dangerously, his hand tightening in the fabric of Eleven's sweater. "What was there! What did you unlock?!"

There was an urgency that Castiel had never before heard in his voice.

It was because the time was running out...

Castiel gave Eleven a quick glance, who smiled slightly. He was too pale...

The Master rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed because he had to explain everything. He stood up and Ten followed his actions as if he was the Master's shadow.

"Once upon a time..."The Master began, his voice child-like and bittersweet."The Doctor was on a space ship together with one of his companions. The stupid crew had been hoarding energy in its ship and was now either consumed or killed by it. The Doctor, as brave as he was, tried to stop the parasite but got himself infected. Long story short, of course the Doctor saved the day." The Master rolled his eyes, slowly approaching Castiel and the others, his arms clasped behind his back. "But what they didn't know was, that the energy, the parasite, wasn't simply that, no...It was something older, something much older...You may know it, Castiel, or at least you should have heard of it." The Master stopped, so close to Castiel that the angel could see the green in those dark eyes, which seemed to break through the darkness like light through a shadow. "It is called the Phoenix Force."

Eleven shuddered and the Master's head turned around to look at the future Time Lord.

"Ah,of course..." The Master walked up to Eleven, stopped, and looked down upon him as if he was something ugly.

"You've heard of it, old as you are..." His voice was soft, dangerously soft, and he cocked his head to one side.

"But, what IS it?" Dean asked, mainly to draw the Master's attention away from Eleven.

The Master didn't even bother to look at Dean as he answered calmly, "A goddess, you could say, born due the big bang. It is beautiful...And the Doctor's body was exactly what it had needed. Two hearts, regenerations, a strong body and a weak mind..."The Master smiled, but to Castiel he looked almost sad. There was always something sad about the Master,as if he was tired and lonely, as if life had made him sad and bitter...

"He was your friend!" Dean spat, the anger back. His green eyes were furious. "He was your friend and now you're slowly killing him!"

The Master's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Killing him? Him? Please! He is the Doctor! He never dies!" He seemed so sure, so convinced...

"No. Dean is right." Castiel agreed. "You are about to create a paradox, and you will definitely kill us all if you won't kill _it_." Castiel's eyes darted to look at the Phoenix, almost a bit afraid of its reaction, but it didn't seem to mind the death threat. "In fact, you already _have_ created a paradox, and you only make it worse."

Lucifer chuckled; he had been quiet all along, though apparently he had gained his interest back, now that things seemed to turn out to be even more complicated than they should have been...

"No! No, no,no!" The Master shook his head, anger twisting his features into an ugly grimace. He pointed a finger at Castiel as he yelled, "You are stupid and you don't understand a thing! I have planned everything! It will work out! Everything will work out this time!"

There was a soft huff to be heard and the Master turned to look back down at the Doctor, who smiled slightly. "You haven't ...learned anything...,have you?" His voice was strained and painfully low but it was enough to make the Master growl in rage.

"Shut up! All of you! Especially you!"

The blond Time Lord leaned forward and yanked Eleven upwards and out of Sherlock's arms. The fingers of the Master tightened in the fabric of the black sweater as he leaned forward until he was so close to the Doctor's face that their noses touched.

Castiel's body tensed up and Dean took a step forward. Sherlock, however, hadn't moved one bit, instead he eyed the Master with furrowed brow.

Lucifer giggled.

"Get your paws off of him!" Dean growled, a gun already in his hands, but the Master ignored him.

"Oh,look at you..." One hand of the Master came up to grab a handful of Eleven's hair, and the future Doctor grimaced in pain as the Master pulled his head up. The Master wasn't taller than Eleven, but Eleven was too weak to stand straight, his legs threatening to give away underneath him.

"I told him to come..." The Master murmured, his face grim as he looked Eleven straight into the half-lidded eyes. "I told him to come but he didn't..."

Dean's eyes widened with panic and Castiel's stomach clenched in something that was close to fear...

He couldn't...But, how?

No one ever had managed to look beneath it...

"Oh yes..." The Master smiled bitterly as he noticed their wide eyes. "You thought that was a good plan? This?" The Master pushed Eleven to the floor. Eleven winced in pain and made no attempt to sit up.

"One great ability of the Phoenix Force is to see through illusions..." The Master began as he turned around to walk back to Ten, who hadn't moved one bit during the whole conversation. "And a simple illusion like this one can easily be seen through, Gabriel."

They held their breath, all of them watching the Master as he slung his arm around Ten's small waist. "He's so smart now..." The Master purred, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. "He saw it right from the start, didn't you?"

Ten nodded, slowly, and turned his head to rest it on the Master's shoulder. It was a grotesque sight, something they were not used to.

_Like a puppet..._

Lucifer giggled again, jumping up and down next to Castiel. "Isn't he beautiful?" The fallen angel asked, awe in his voice. "All this power..."

Of course, all Lucifer would see was the power hidden beneath the layer of skin and soul...But the state of mind, the state of mind he would ignore...

The Doctor's dying soul he would ignore...

Because those beautiful red flames of destruction were so much nicer to look at...

"I saw it right away..." Ten agreed, and Castiel winced inwardly as he heard the monotone voice, a voice which was usually full of emotions.

"You are sick..." The air around Gabriel began to shift and blue flames ate up the illusion of Eleven, leaving Gabriel sitting on the floor, an angry expression on his face. "You are trying to tame a godlike force here, this won't end well!"

The Master clicked his tongue at that, his hand patting the Ten's hair as if he was a pet. "You misunderstand my intentions! I am not trying to tame anything!" The Master turned his head to look at the brown mop of hair on his shoulder. There was an almost loving expression in his eyes before he turned back to look at Gabriel, his eyes cold again.

"Either way, it will kill us all! In the end, nothing is save! You should know that!" Gabriel urged on.

He knew, he knew, because he had seen it, seen what had happened once...

Dean shifted from one foot to the other, the gun still in his hands though he had lowered his arms.

Castiel could see the worry in his eyes, the tension in his body, and he wondered what Dean was thinking about...

Dean met his gaze, his green eyes wide and stern. Castiel said nothing, because what should he say? That everything was about to be alright? Dean wouldn't believe him, and, to be honest, Castiel wouldn't believe it either.

The angels' gaze wandered to Sherlock; the detective was quiet as he helped Gabriel back up to his feet. His impossible light eyes were fixed on the Master and Castiel was sure that he tried to find a way out of this, a way where they all would survive somehow...

_All, except Ten._

"No." The Master said, again, his arm tightening around Ten's waist. "You stupid people don't understand! You don't understand! And you never will!" The Master took a deep breath, as if to calm himself, and a smile crossed his lips.

"But, I don't expect you to understand. You are dull and stupid and you don't see it, you don't see anything..."

Ten leaned closer to the Master, one fine boned hand coming up to the Master's chest, clutching the fabric of the expensive suit as if it was a life raft.

"Their coming." The hollow voice said, the big eyes watching Castiel but not seeing him.

_Dead._

_Like a puppet..._

Couldn't the Master see that there was something wrong?

Couldn't he see that this was everything else than the Time Lord he loved?

Couldn't he see that the Force was consuming Ten?

Couldn't he?

Or didn't he want to...

Castiel shivered and Lucifer leaned closer to him.

"Like what you see, Castiel?" The archangel whispered, close to his ear. "Does it remind you of something...?"

Castiel closed his eyes, trying to get rid of his brother, but all he could hear was the dark laughter close to his ear.

"Cas." Dean's hand on his shoulder made him jump, and the hunter tightened his grip. "You're alright?"

Castiel opened his eyes and nodded without looking at Dean. "Yes. I am fine."

"Liar, liar, liar!" Lucifer chanted.

The 'pling' of the elevator made them turn around on their heels.

"Oh no..."

The silver doors opened and Sam stumbled into the room, closely followed by Eleven, who was held upright by-

"John..." Sherlock's voice was a soft whisper. He was so shocked that he couldn't say anything else.

It was not John who entered the room, yanking Eleven towards the Master, who grinned at the sight of Eleven being yanked through the room by his hair; it was a demon.

"That ain't John..." Dean said, his eyes following the demon. The hunter tightened his grip around the gun but didn't dare to lift it up.

The demons face was grim, his black eyes hard and cold. His hair was combed back, giving him an even colder, almost too perfect appearance. He was wearing a suit in black.

Sherlock whispered a name. "Westwood..." but Castiel was not sure who he was addressing with that name.

Eleven didn't even try to fight against the man, he was too weak to even stand, his feet stumbling over the marble floor until they gave away. The Time Lord let out a small shout of pain as he was pulled over the floor, his breathing heavy and shallow.

He wasn't able to regain his footing again.

The demon dropped him in front of the Master, who grinned, more than pleased. Ten just looked down upon his future-self, his face blank.

"Thank you, Sebastian." The Master gave the demon a short nod. "You may leave."

The demon, Sebastian, gave a short nod in return and turned around to walk back to the elevator. He passed Sherlock, almost brushing against the detectives coat, and an ugly smile crossed his lips, something that looked completely wrong on John's face.

"Nice to finally meet you in person, Holmes." The demon spat, his voice a low hiss, nothing like John's voice, nothing at all. The black eyes met the blue of Sherlock's, and Sherlock only stared back, too shocked to say something, to shocked to do anything at all.

His face was a mask of no emotions, only his wide eyes and his rapid breathing gave away his panic. "John...I..." He swallowed hard and trailed off.

The demon laughed, loud and hollow, as he stepped inside the elevator without looking back. "That's for Jimmy, Holmes. That's for Jimmy."

The doors closed and the demon was gone.

Silence filled the room, only the harsh breathing of Eleven was to be heard.

Eleven was crouching on the floor, his head bowed while his palms were pressed flat against the cold marble. He was glowing, the light brighter than before, and every breath was rattling inside his chest.

The Time Lord's pale fingers were digging against the marble, his hair hanging into is too pale face, covering his eyes.

It looked as if he was bowing before his new god.

"Master...Master..."Eleven panted, and it sounded like a desperate prayer. "Master...please..."

Dean's hand balled into a fist again, the tension too much to bear. Castiel knew he hated to see his friends suffer, hated it with every fibre of his being.

Sam gave his brother an apologetic glance, mouthing, _"Sorry, they got us..."_

Lucifer snickered.

Castiel felt as if they had failed, as if the whole thing had been doomed to fail right from the beginning...

And now Eleven had to suffer.

Because they hadn't been able to save him.

 _But it is not to late!,_ a voice inside Castiel's head screamed. _It is not too late..._

Gabriel made a few steps forward, but the dark dead eyes of Ten made him stop in his tracks; they weren't allowed to move.

"Master..."Eleven's voice was broken. He was shaking with the effort of keeping himself upright.

"I like it, you, on your knees, on the floor, saying my name..." The Master grinned, wide and pleased, though his eyes were cold and not smiling at all. As if there was no satisfaction for him, even though he claimed to be pleased.

"I could get used to that, but..." He reached out, and Castiel's body tensed up, ready to jump forward, but all the Master did was to cup the pale face of the other man in his hands. "...sadly your time is running out."

The Doctor wheezed, one shaky hand reaching up to grab the Master by his wrist. He wasn't strong enough to hold onto it, though.

"Don't...Don't...Don't..p-please don't..." There was a sob.

"Oh Doctor, why are you crying?" The Master asked, his voice bittersweet. "Are you afraid? Don't be! You will be as good as new! Don't fight it!"

The Doctor managed to shake his head, slowly, painfully slowly. "No...No, it's...it's not...not about me..it's...it's about you..." His voice was so small, almost a whisper.

The Master was taken aback. "Me?"

The Doctor nodded again, looking up, the light around him getting stronger.

_It's not too late, not too late, do something, DO SOMETHING!_

"You...won't...won't be happy like this..." The Doctor wheezed, his eyes wide and begging the Master to stop his actions before it was too late.

The Master snorted and let go of the Doctor's face, leaning up again. "Shut up! You never knew what makes me happy!"

The blond Time Lord raised his hand, ready to hit the Doctor across the face, and that was when Castiel moved, that was when he opened his wings, his angel blade ready in his hand, that was when he jumped towards the Master.

That was when Ten's eyes lit up, fiery red.

"Cas!" Dean screamed, a warning, and Castiel turned his head, his mistake, his mistake, because the next thing that he felt was a harsh blow against his chest.

Next thing he knew was that he was thrown across the room, blazing red eyes staring at him.

"Cas!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, for all of you who don't know the Phoenix Force:
> 
>  
> 
> ****  
> [here](http://marvel.com/universe/Phoenix_Force)  
>  Of course it isn't 100% the same, but I like the Force and the idea of it.  
> Well, I'll see you around, next update as soon as possible


	20. One of us is dying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is burning

**Chapter 19**

The impact was hard, but not as painful as expected.

Castiel rolled over the floor and was quickly back on his feet, only to dodge another attack.

Ten didn't even move, not too much, he was just standing there staring at Castiel while his new powers seemed to do their work.

Castiel wasn't sure how much the humans could see, but he saw flames. Big, bright flames that tried to catch him, which lunged out at him.

Castiel, of course, was fast. He had wings, he could move through the different planes, of course he was fast, but the Phoenix was even faster.

If Castiel was about to move to the right then the flames were already there, ready to catch him, and so Castiel was moving on the spot, dodging the attacks without being able to do much else.

"It looks like you're dancing." Lucifer mused while he crossed his legs; he was sitting on the arm of the armchair, his face cupped in his hands.

_"Don't touch him."_

Castiel shuddered, because Ten's mouth was not moving; his voice was inside Castiel's head.

_Telepathy.._

So, this was about the Master, then?

A shot was heard, and the angel flinched heavily.

The flames around him didn't vanish, but they stopped moving, allowing Castiel to turn his head around to look at Dean, who stood with his gun raised, a grim look on his face. However, his expression soon turned into a shocked grimace as the bullet stopped in the air, right in front of Ten's face.

"Oh, well, fuck..."

Ten's eyes slowly turned to look at Dean, and then he raised one hand, ready to strike, ready to smash Dean, but he was stopped, stopped by Sherlock's calm voice.

"I wouldn't do that if I was you."

Ten turned around on his heels, slowly, almost as if he already knew what he would see.

The Master was held by Sherlock and Gabriel, both at either side of him. His face was an angry grimace and he tried to wriggle free, but Sherlock's grip was tight and Gabriel's angel blade against his throat was another thing...

Ten didn't even blink, he just cocked his head to one side, surveying the situation.

"Do something!" The Master hissed, his hands scratching over Sherlock's hands against his arm."Kill them!"

Ten blinked. _"You said I shouldn't."_ He answered with his monotone voice.

"I changed my mind!" The Master spit back, but then his face became soft and his eyes big and pleading. "Please...They are going to kill me, you don't want that, right..?"

Castiel's blue eyes met Dean's green ones, and they both nodding slowly.

Now. Now they could try again. The Phoenix was distracted...

Castiel noticed Eleven, crouching on the floor, Sam sitting next to him, one hand on the shoulder of the Time Lord. The golden glow was even brighter now, almost eating the Doctor up, from the outside as well from the inside.

Castiel couldn't see Eleven's face, but he was sure it was full of pain.

Sam tightened his grip, almost as if to stabilize Eleven, as if his grip could hold him here a little longer...

Castiel tore his gaze away, nodding at Dean, again. Now.

One wing beat and he was behind Ten, his angel blade raised, ready to plunge the blade into the Time Lord's back, but he couldn't move, couldn't attack, because he was thrown backwards against one of the marble pillars, with so much force that the pillar broke and almost hit him if he hadn't been quick enough to roll to his side to avoid the falling piece.

He could hear Dean yelling, and saw him flying through the air as well. Luckily the hunter hit the sofa and not a pillar, because Castiel was sure that Dean wouldn't have been able to stand up again after that...

"I said _stop_!" Sherlock raised his voice and the Master shrieked as Gabriel put more pressure on the blade.

Ten was still looking at them, hadn't moved one bit.

Only his eyes narrowed ever so slightly at the harsh tone in the detectives voice.

_"No one tells me what I have to do."_

Castiel was back on his feet, only to be thrown against the next pillar, which crunched with a sickening sound underneath his weight and the force of the blow. His head hit the marble and Castiel needed a few seconds to get his sight back.

What he saw didn't make him any happier.

Sherlock and Gabriel were both thrown away from the Master. Sherlock hit the edge of the table and didn't get back up, while Gabriel landed on his back, the impact forcing all air out of his lungs.

Ten was standing tall and straight, the flames around him forming into massive wings, which stretched out wide to his sides. His eyes flickered like the fire around him, with a light that was inhuman.

"The rage of a god..." Lucifer said, lost in the beauty of the flames. "It's going to kill you, Cassie, all of you...You're going to actually die."

He sounded...stunned...Surprised by the sheer power of the Phoenix.

"No." Castiel growled, back on his feet once more. Some bones were broken and the hair on the back of his head was sticky with blood. He would heal himself later. For now they had to stop the Phoenix.

"Wonderful!" The Master breathed, hurrying towards Ten but stopped in his tracks.

His brow furrowed.

The flames. They were too bright. They were too hot. They would kill him of he got too close.

"It's enough now, we can deal with them the normal way." He said, but Ten just stared ahead, right through the Master.

 _"They have to burn."_ His mouth didn't move. _"I have to clean this world."_

He is loosing it, Castiel realized, he is loosing what was left of him, the Doctor.

"He is going to kill us all..." The angel whispered, his eyes wide.

He could see it.

This force was as old as the universe, it was power, it was a world eating force, it was the one that would bring the end.

He could _see_ it.

The flames, eating up everything, destroying, destroying everything in order to rebuild...

It was the end.

"You see it now, too, don't you?" Lucifer whispered, a smile on his face. "The beauty of it."

Castiel hated to admit it, but Lucifer was right; there was beauty.

"And it's just a small piece..." Lucifer purred, his hands folded under his chin. "Just a small piece of the force, and look at it, so strong..."

"Cas!" Dean yelled. The hunter was on his knees next to Sherlock, who was unconscious. There was a hole in his temple where he had hit the table.

"You don't have to fight it, you know?" Lucifer continued. "You are an angel, Cassie. You are better than those humans that live like parasites on this earth. Why don't you join it? Just imagine it, ..." Lucifer trailed off, and Castiel stood there, his wide eyes on Dean, who looked back at him, pleading silently for help, pleading him to heal Sherlock, but Castiel was frozen on the spot.

"Cas!"

"You could be so beautiful." Lucifer's hand was on his shoulder, his mouth near Castiel's ear.

"Cas, get your damn fucking ass over here!"

This brought Castiel back to reality.

"Fuck you!" The angel growled at his brother and with one wing beat he was at Dean's side, crouching down next to Sherlock. "Wait I-" Flames shot up, and all Castiel could do was throwing himself in front of his friends, his wings outstretched to stop the flames.

He hissed in pain as the flames reached out and burned him through every plane, his feathers barely strong enough to stop the hot red fire.

He could feel the heat, could feel the flames licking at him, trying to burn him, but his Grace was fighting them, fire against ice, but he wouldn't last long, not under that pressure, not under that force...

Dean was almost lying underneath him, his eyes wide with shock as he saw the flames, as he could feel the heat, but not a single flame reached him.

He couldn't see Castiel's wings, but he knew what Castiel was doing.

"Fuck, Cas!" Dean gasped, and one of his hands shot up to clutch Castiel's shoulder. "Fuck, wait I-"

Castiel shook his head; no. There was nowhere for Dean to go. He would burn to ashes.

So instead of letting Dean go, Castiel hissed, "Gabrieeeel!"

There was a cry, and Castiel could see the Doctor, writhing on the floor behind one of the marble pillars, Sam at his side. Sam must have moved them behind the marble to save them from the fire.

The Time Lord was clutching his chest where his remaining heart was beating too fast, his eyes clenched shut. He was loosing it.

"It's starting!"Sam yelled, and there was panic in his voice, because he couldn't do a thing, he couldn't help. "He's turning back!"

"Gabrieeeel!" Castiel yelled, again, his arms threatening to give away under the power of the flames.

"Shut the fuck up, bro!" Gabriel appeared next to them. Even with only four of his wings left he was still faster than Castiel.

"I could need some help!" Castiel answered through clenched teeth.

Gabriel only rolled his eyes and was gone again.

Dean was quiet, through Castiel could see on his face that he was sorry for being such a burden, for being so useless right now, and Castiel would have slapped him in the face if he hadn't been busy trying to shield Dean and Sherlock from the flames.

"Stop it, Dean." Castiel panted, looking straight into Dean's eyes.

Dean didn't answer, but his brow furrowed slightly, and his eyes seemed to study Castiel's face as if he wanted to take in every detail. They were close, so close, and Castiel could feel Dean's body underneath him, and it felt weird, weird in a good but confusing way, but this was not the right time, it never was the right time, and so Castiel forced the feeling back inside his head to concentrate on the current problem.

A loud thud was heard and someone grunted; Gabriel.

"This isn't going to work..." Castiel mumbled, his hands digging against the marble floor, trying to search for support. "It is too strong, blunt attacks won't work..."

The fire was incredible hot and Castiel felt like melting under the tongues of flame. The Grace of his wings cracked dangerously and single sparks lit up as it tried to withstand the brutal force.

The angels' eyes darted to his side. The Master stood behind broken pillar, hiding from the flames and the heath. Most of the furniture in the room was already burning.

"Stop it!" The Master yelled, and there was panic in his voice even if his face was calm and collected. Well, he tried to stay calm and collected, but the panic was already visible on his face, which slowly turned into a grimace of childlike frustration and confusion.

He could understand why this happened, why the force didn't listen.

It had been so obedient all the time, so why didn't it listen now?

What had gone wrong?

Surely there was a way to fix it!

Another cry made Castiel flinch, his head turning back to Eleven, who was clutching Sam now. The poor Winchester didn't know what to do, his face screaming with helplessness while he was trying to comfort the dying man.

The ice was melting, slowly, slowly, and he tried to build it up again, to add another layer of Grace, of the cold, but he wasn't fast enough, no matter how hard he tried, because the Phoenix was even faster than him.

The flames poured out of the skinny body, spilled over the marble floor like blood, slithered through the air like living snakes, ready to kill.

All the while Ten never looked at them, his eyes filled of fire never once looking at either of them, and Castiel could only imagine that what he was seeing was something only he could see. The Phoenix, however, had his eyes everywhere, reaching out for everything that was alive to burn it down. They were fighting, Ten and the Phoenix, for the body they were in, and Ten was loosing.

The fine-boned hand was twitching, his eyes fluttering once or twice.

Else there was no visible sight of the fight inside.

But inside...

Inside the Ten's whole world was burning, all the memories, his soul, his very being, and slowly he was swallowed up by the flames, which were high as mountains and bright as the sun itself.

_Beautiful..._

And slowly, slowly black veins began to become visible under the paper white skin, like cracks in porcelain, spreading down from the fire red eyes to the pale thin mouth and over the lean neck to the pale chest under the suit, and the doll-like features began to form into the mask of death and destruction.

He could hear the Doctor screaming, both of the them, screaming inside their heads, and he was so sorry for not being able to help.

_But it is not too late..._

"Try to tell that yourself." Lucifer laughed; he was sitting on the floor next to them, his eyes observing the Phoenix and Gabriel. "You know it is too late already."

_No._

_No, I will not accept this fate._

_I won't._

Gabriel was trying to attack the Phoenix, again, this time by trying to suddenly appear next to him, but the Phoenix knew that he was coming, and slammed him into the nearest wall.

Gabriel, though, was gone before his body hit the wall, and appeared behind the Phoenix. This went on, and on, but it didn't work.

The flames couldn't kill Gabriel, no, Gabriel's Grace was far too strong to be melted by the fire, but even he would become exhausted. They were fighting, too fast for the human eye. Gabriel was probably just a blur to Dean and the others, appearing from time to time next to the Phoenix just to be thrown away again, but Castiel could see all of his movements, could see him flying through the air, his massive golden wings cutting the flames like knives.

But it was of no use, of no use, because Grace was not affecting the Phoenix. You can't fight fire with ice, nor with fire, you can only try to keep it back for a while.

Gabriel was panting already, slowing down, and his movements slowly became sluggish. He had trouble staying up in the air, the flames grabbing his wings and pulling him down into the abyss of fire.

His eyes were still bright and he had plenty of his Grace left, but he was using it too fast, was literally burning it up, and that was neither good for his vessel, nor for him, because that meant he would need some time to recover from that great loss of Grace.

Castiel wished he could help his brother, but even if he would be able to help him, he wouldn't be of great use.

The Phoenix was everywhere, in their heads, he knew what they were about to do. They were powerless against him. They wouldn't be able to win this time.

Castiel swallowed hard and couldn't look down at Dean's face, Dean, who was studying him, trying to see into his eyes, but Castiel wouldn't let him.

He had failed him. He had failed them all.

What kind of angel was he if he couldn't protect the ones he loved? His family?

If he couldn't help his brother, who was fighting a fight of life and death.

"Useless. that's what you are." Lucifer rolled his eyes and didn't even look at Castiel.

The words did hurt like slap into his face.

_"You cannot defeat me."_

The Phoenix stood over Gabriel, who was lying on the floor. One of Ten's feet was placed on Gabriel's back, keeping him on the floor.

Castiel hadn't seen them moving, hadn't seen what had happened, because he had been too busy pondering about Lucifer's words.

Dean struggled underneath him, trying to get free, trying to do something, but Castiel held him back with one hand on the hunter's shoulder.

"Let me get my gun, Cas!" Dean hissed.

As if the gun would do anything good.

"The gun is of no use. You have seen that already, Dean..."

The Phoenix smiled, but it looked wrong; the skin around his mouth was dark due the small black veins which bloomed across half of Ten's face now, so that his smile became distorted grin. It was reminding Castiel of time when the Leviathans had taken over his body. His body hadn't been strong enough to contain all the Leviathans, causing it to transform into something...else...

Gabriel groaned as the Phoenix increased the pressure of his foot on the archangel's back. Something cracked dangerously, and Castiel assumed it were the bones of Gabriel's vessel.

However, Gabriel didn't want to give up, not even now, and that was why he tightened his fingers around his angel blade. He tried to move fast enough to cut the leg, but the Phoenix noticed his intentions and kicked the blade away. The weapon slithered over the floor and disappeared behind a pillar.

Gabriel cursed under his breath, and the next moment he screamed in pain because the Phoenix actually broke a few of his ribs by stepping onto his ribcage with the full force of Ten's body.

And, yes, Ten's body was skinny, but that didn't mean he was weak..

Especially not when there was a god-like force inside that scrawny body, which _knew_ how to use its power.

The archangel bit back a groan, coughing up blood instead. One or more ribs must have pierced his vessel's lung, and he couldn't heal himself because his Grace was busy battling the heat and flames.

Castiel had to clench his hands into fists so he wouldn't jump up. He couldn't leave Dean now, but he had to help Gabriel...

He bit his lip in frustration.

_"You are going to burn now."_

Gabriel winced in pain as the foot on his back pressed down even harder.

He raised his wings, ready to escape, but the flames grabbed them, almost tearing them apart. The angel screamed in pain, more blood welling up in his mouth, and Castiel winced in sympathy.

The Phoenix leaned down, reaching for Gabriel, no pity in his wide red eyes, and Castiel was sure he would see his brother die, was sure the Phoenix would touch Gabriel and burn him to ashes, and all Castiel could do was scream, but he didn't, because no sound came out of his throat,his heart fluttering in his chest like a bird in a cage, and no, no, he didn't want to lose Gabriel, not again, because he was literally the only one of his heavenly family that he had.

Dean leaned upwards, his hand tight on Castiel's arm, and Castiel was sure that he said something, was sure the hunter tried to talk to him, but he could hear nothing. He only had eyes for the monster made of bright red flames with wings that were larger than his own, the monster which was about to kill his brother.

"Stop!"

Castiel's head turned abruptly to look at the Master, who stood mere feet away from the Phoenix. The Time Lord looked grim, sweat dripping down his face due the heat, sticking his hair to his forehead.

Ten looked up, his eyes on the Master's face. His hand had stopped mere inches in front of Gabriel's pale face.

 _"There is no need to stop!"_ He spat, his eyes glowing with power and anger. _"They tried to kill us!"_

The Master swallowed hard, the hand at his side twitching. Castiel could almost see his thoughts moving around his head.

"What is he doing?!" Dean asked, sounding breathless. Castiel only shook his head; he didn't know, but it seemed that the Master had a plan.

Did he want to stop the Phoenix?

Yes.

Because he saw his mistake now, saw his burning house, saw the man that wasn't the man he once had known. He had made a mistake by summoning the Phoenix in order to control Ten, but did he know how to make things right? Could he fix his mistake? Or was it too late? Had he a plan to save them all, or only to save himself?

Castiel didn't know, but he hoped that the Master was about to make the right choice, because right now he was the only one that the Phoenix was listening to.

"I know." The Master's voice was not gentle but understanding. "I know they tried. But this isn't about them, this is about us."

Ten blinked, his hands clenching into fists. _"Us?"_ He asked, his voice sounding hollow.

The Master nodded, all the while approaching Ten. "Yes. I mean...You do love me, right? Don't you?"

Ten's expression changed into a hurt grimace. The wrong words, so it seemed.

_"I am not him. You don't love me, you love him."_

The Master closed his eyes for a few minutes, sighing loudly. "You are a part of him now, I accept that. I love you, _both_."

He was talking about the Phoenix, Castiel realized. About Ten and the Phoenix...

"You want to kill them because they want to hurt me, right?" He sounded as if he was talking to a small child, trying to explain something that it couldn't understand.

The Phoenix nodded.

"They can't hurt me now, not anymore. They know that you are stronger then them. However ..." He opened his eyes again. "...you will kill me if you burn this house down."

Ten's face was an emotionless mask as the Phoenix answered, _"I would never hurt you..."_

The Master's dark eyes lit up. "Are you sure? Because, right now, you are dangerously close to hurting me."

He was right; the flames were all around him now, the heat too strong for a body to bear, and breathing had to be difficult.

Yet the Master continued to walk towards the Phoenix, not hesitating once. His breath was hard and walking seemed to be difficult, but he didn't stop, his eyes firmly fixed on Ten's face.

Maybe he was seeing him, Ten, not the Phoenix. Maybe that kept him going.

"You have to stop it. Now." The Master said, his voice stern but not too firm. "For me."

The Phoenix hesitated, his brow slightly furrowed as if he couldn't understand...

A scream, loud and pained, echoed through the room and over the crackling of the flames.

Eleven. He was still fighting it.

The golden glow had swallowed him whole and Sam had let go of the glowing body, his back now leaning against the pillar, his eyes wide.

 _"No."_ The Phoenix turned his head back to the Master who stood now in front of him, tired and sweaty and hopeless, and shook his head. _"You are doing this for them!"_

The Master took a deep breath, coughing because there was not enough oxygen for his lungs. "That's not true." He said, his voice rough. Castiel wondered if that was because of the heat or because of something else..

"I'm doing this for us."

Ten's blazing eyes widened even more, the look of surprise crossing his face.

_"You are lying..."_

The Master laughed, though it sounded more sad than amused.

"Was there ever a time when I wasn't lying?"

A small smile flashed over Ten's lips and his eyes became soft.

_"Not that I can remember."_

Another scream filled the air, but those two didn't even flinch, too absorbed in their own little world.

Dean muttered a curse, his eyes darting to look at his brother, who returned his gaze with a desperate expression on his face.

Sherlock was still unconscious.

Gabriel was lying on the floor, his hands clenched into fists while his eyes were tightly shut.

The flames crackled and filled the room with golden light.

The sun was setting, and it looked as if the sky was burning now, too.

"I am sorry." The Master smiled again, in this time he looked utterly sad, as if he was about to cry. "I am really sorry."

Ten opened his mouth, maybe because he was about to ask what for, maybe because he was about to tell the Master that there was nothing to be sorry for, or maybe even because he was about to forgive the Master for his crimes, however, they would never know what he had intended to say, because the next thing that happened was the angel blade piercing through one of Ten's hearts.

Ten's eyes widened in shock, the flames reaching up high into the air, the look of surprise and finally realization filling his eyes as he looked down onto the Master's hand, which was still gripping the blade in a tight grip.

However, there was no kind of anger visible on his pale face, he wasn't emotionally hurt, neither did he feel betrayed.

Instead there was some sort of bittersweet acceptance, a small smile making its way over Ten's face, and his eyes seemed more alive than they had been before.

Dean gasped in shock.

Castiel didn't know what to feel.

He was sad, of course he was sad, because they lost a friend, however, they had also saved one.

It had to be this way.

It was alright.

And from the expression on Ten's face he knew that it was alright for him, too.

Though, he hadn't thought that it would be the Master who would put an end to all this.

"Well, that was a plot twist..." Lucifer mumbled, too surprised to say much else.

To be honest, Castiel was happy about that, because right now he really couldn't bear Lucifer's statements.

Not that he ever could.

Ten's legs gave away, and the Master led him a few steps way so he wouldn't crash onto Gabriel, who was now rolling onto his side.

Blood dripped down onto the black tiles as the Master carefully took out the blade, throwing it carelessly onto the floor which it hit with a soft metallic thud. There was now a gaping hole inside Ten's chest,his suit drenched with blood, and all color had drained out of his pale face.

The two Time Lords sat down on the floor and the Master was careful so he wouldn't hurt Ten even more, his arms drawn around the skinny body, which was now glowing in the same golden light as Eleven's.

The flames around them slowly died down and dissolved into tiny golden and red sparks, like little fireflies flying into the sky.

Castiel was aware that he could now move, that Dean was safe now, but Castiel's body had an own mind and didn't move at all. Instead he watched the Master and Ten, as they sat there on the floor, their bodies black silhouettes in the dying light of the sun.

Neither of them said a word.

The Master whispered some soothing words into Ten's ear, too quiet for the others to be heard, and even if they _could_ hear them, Castiel was sure that the Master was speaking in the language of the Time Lords, which none of them could understand.

It happened really quick.

The golden glow soon had swallowed Ten's body, and then it seemed to explode, golden light filling the room, but Castiel didn't shut his eyes. He didn't need to.

He could see how Ten's skinny body slowly transformed itself into Eleven's younger looking one. The hair grew longer, the face more triangular, and the suit seemed a bit too big for him now.

The Master held onto the Doctor, not letting go, his chin resting on the other man's shoulder while he stared ahead.

Castiel was sure he could see his heart breaking somewhat.

One piece was gone, another had been added.

The piece of the Doctor that the Master had liked the most was now somewhere hidden underneath another layer of personality, and it wouldn't come back.

Surely that felt like he was dead now.

And, yes, he probably really was.

And there was someone new now. Someone this Master didn't know, and someone who had replaced the Doctor that he, the current Master, had liked the best.

Surely, surely that was sad.

But he was not gone. The Doctor was not dead, he was just...someone else, but still the same.

It would take some time, but eventually the Master would grow to like him...

Because, in the end, they would always end up in the same place.

Castiel decided that it was all right to move now, so he rolled off of Dean and stood up. Dean had some trouble standing up, but it seemed that he was alright, so Castiel went to Sherlock's side.

The angel placed his fingers upon the detective's forehead, and within mere seconds he had healed the wound and the concussion. However, he didn't waste any time to see if Sherlock would wake up, there were others he had to look for.

Eleven seemed to be alright. He was still very much unconscious but he was himself. Though, his hair looked a bit wilder now, reminding Castiel of Ten's hair. Maybe that was a side-effect of the almost transformation into Ten.

"It's alright. I'll stay at his side as long as...you have to settle things." Sam said. He looked a bit worn out but besides a few minor burns there was nothing to be seen.

Castiel gave him a short nod and turned back to face Dean and the others.

Dean was watching him, though he looked away again as he saw that Castiel was looking at him.

"I wonder what he is thinking." Lucifer sighed, the first words he had spoken after Ten's regeneration. Castiel ignored him.

Instead he looked at his other brother.

Gabriel was on his feet now. He was still battered and bruised, but he had enough strength to walk towards the Master and the Doctor. His Grace was dim, a small flicker of light, and his wings dragged behind him over the floor, too heavy to stay up in the air.

"We have to go now." The archangel said, his voice grave and without any trace of his well known humor. "Because this future is going to collapse very soon, and with soon I mean as soon as this Doctor-" he pointed at the Doctor who was lying in the Master's arms. "Wakes up and the whole cause of history changes because of _you_!"

He was angry. His expression was calm, yes, but his inside was burning with rage.

He couldn't stand others playing with the strands of past and future.

Yes, Gabriel had decided to turn his back on all the angel business, but he still had his sense of heavenly order, and if there was one thing that his archangel senses couldn't stand then it was someone who was playing with the fate of more than one race. No one was allowed to do that, besides himself.

The Master didn't look up, and he really looked like he was a little child. Like he had been defeated. As if he knew that he had done something incredible stupid that he couldn't fix anymore.

And Castiel felt sorry for him.

He felt sorry for the Master sorry because he knew how it felt; doing something so incredible stupid that all you could do was to hate yourself for doing it in the first place, something that you would regret your whole life.

Something that would change you forever, and those around you,too.

Something that would make you feel like scum for half of your life.

Castiel didn't say that he knew exactly how the Master felt, because that would be a lie, but he could _imagine_ it.

And for sure it wasn't a nice feeling.

The Master, however, said no word; he didn't say that he was sorry, but he also didn't say that he wasn't.

"I will take the Doctor with me and return him to _his_ TARDIS. I will tell her what to do. Afterwards I will delete his memories of this event and the past six years that will have never happened, and he won't remember a thing. Not what he has done, and not what you have done to him and all the others."

The Master looked up, and even from the distance Castiel could see the hurt in his eyes. All the years that they had spent together, everything they did together, would be gone, would have never happened, not for real, and only the Master would remember it the way it had been.

"I will set his memories right, and he will remember his regeneration as it has to be to complete our timeline."

The Master pressed his lips together, anger and frustration fighting a battle on his face. His hands were shaking.

"You will go with Castiel and the others. You will fly the TARDIS out of this timeline. You will stay with them." Gabriel's eyes became a shade darker. "Because otherwise I'll make sure you won't survive your next regeneration."

There was a heavy silence now in the room, Gabriel's words of judgment still hanging in the air.

"Do you understand me?"

The Master swallowed hard, sullenness and anger visible in every fibre of his being, but eventually he nodded reluctantly. "Yes." He answered, and he sounded so tired of everything. "I do..."

Gabriel snorted but nodded, accepting the Master's answer.

The Doctor moved slightly, and Gabriel's expression hardened.

It was time to go.

Every protest died down in the Master's throat as Gabriel placed his fingers against the Doctor's forehead and vanished together with him.

He looked miserable.

"We should go,too." Sherlock leaned against the table, still looking a bit dazed. "Demons." He added.

And, yes, of course he was right.

They were lucky that the TARDIS was already in this room, so they didn't need to fly, something that Dean was very happy about.

"Best is we put him in one of the rooms." Sherlock nodded towards the Doctor, who was held upright by Sam, his head dangling slightly as Sam moved. "He should wake up soon, I assume."

Sam nodded and waited till the Master had opened the door of the TARDIS.

The blond Time Lord was unusually quiet and his gaze was hard and cold.

The TARDIS hummed softly, a smile in her voice, almost as if to welcome the Doctor back home.

Castiel noticed that not only the appearance of the ship had changed but also the soul of it. She seemed much more real and alive to him than the last time, where her voice had been a mere humming. Now he could hear her voice, whispering quietly, ranting about the Master, worrying about her Doctor.

Sam easily found a room for the Doctor, since the TARDIS made it easy for him.

He walked down the stairs which were leading to the plane underneath the glass platform of the console, and came back up mere minutes later. Sherlock had followed him downstairs, and didn't come back up, so Castiel assumed that he had decided to stay with the Doctor.

All the while the Master had said no word, too busy with setting the coordinates and handling the console.

Castiel could feel the discomfort of the TARDIS and could hear the dislike in her mumbling. She really couldn't stand the Master.

"That's so freaking...freaky..."Dean mumbled as he gazed around the console room.

This room looked even more astonishing than the console room of Ten's TARDIS, and Castiel could understand Dean's amazement.

Lucifer was, again, nowhere to be seen, and Castiel wondered if it was the soul of the TARDIS that kept him sane, or if it was something else.

"Okay, I think you should go now." Sam said. He stood next to the door, his hand already on the door handle. "Good luck."

He opened the door, but Dean held him back, his eyes wide. "Wait! What are you doin'?"

Sam sighed, almost as if he had expected Dean to act this way, and Castiel was sure he had. "Dean, I am a part of this alternative timeline. I will disappear as soon as you have left the stream."

Dean stared right back at him, emotions flickering across his face, but Castiel could hardly place them. It looked like a mixture between anguish and shock.

"But..." He began, his voice rough. "That's like dying..."

Sam smiled sadly. "I will have never even existed. That's worse than dying."

Dean flinched, and Castiel knew that he felt responsible for all this, could see it in the way that Dean was looking at Sam, with all the guilt and sadness in his green eyes, and that was why he chose to walk up next to Dean, close enough to touch his hand, though he didn't. "Dean. This is not your fault."

Dean blinked, his head turning towards Castiel. There was doubt upon his face, his brow furrowed, and Castiel knew that he didn't share the same opinion.

"But if I-"

"No, Dean. He is right." Sam was still smiling, and this time it actually looked like he was smiling, really smiling, the kindness reaching his eyes, and maybe that was because he had realized that this was the last time he would see Dean.

"You've saved the universe. You've saved the Doctor. And, yes, as soon as you leave, this timeline and I will be gone forever but...hey." His smile widened. "I know that there is a me that is waiting for you right now, somewhere there in another timeline. And this me won't disappear."

Dean still didn't look convinced but at least he was smiling slightly.

The TARDIS began to hum loudly, and the tube in the middle of the console began to come to live, the sound of the engines filling the room.

"See you, Dean." Sam said and stepped outside the TARDIS. "I am waiting."

The door was closed and the TARDIS flew off into the vortex.


	21. No need to cry over spilled milk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not easy to deal with the current circumstances

**Chapter 20**

He jerked awake, his eyes flying open wide as he sat up straight.

The first thing he noticed was the TARDIS, his TARDIS! He had been lying on the bed of one of the guest rooms, and the soft whispering of his beloved ship greeted him, calmed him down.

The second thing he noticed was that he was ...alright. He was himself. He had survived.

Suddenly he felt very much like crying with relief, but then he remembered the Master and the Phoenix and everything that had happened, and it crashed down onto him like a weight trying to pull him back down.

"You are awake, I see. Finally."

The Doctor's head turned around to find Sherlock sitting in one of the armchairs next to the bed. The detective had his hands folded together underneath his chin, his watchful eyes resting on the Doctor. He looked fine, his eyes bright and alive, and his clothes neat and free of any blood.

It was difficult to tell what the detective was thinking about, or what he felt at the moment, because the face of the dark haired man was as blank as white paper, no emotional visible, and for a second the Doctor feared that Sherlock had become the cold detective once more.

But then a small smile made its way towards his eyes and his body relaxed visibly. Had he been waiting here for the Doctor to wake up?

"Yes, yes yes, I am fine, I am good." The Doctor nodded hastily, for it was real. The bullet wound was gone, but there was a small scar. A reminder that the things _had happened_ for real, even if _the_ future _would_ never really happen.

A strand of hair had fallen into the Time Lord's eye and he tried to push it behind his ear, but it was stubbornly refusing to stay in place, so eventually he gave up and clasped his hands in his lap.

Sherlock's smile widened. He was visible amused, but didn't say a word.

"For how long have you been waiting here?"

Sherlock's eyes moved upwards as he thought about the question. "I can hardly tell." His eyes returned to the Doctor's face. "Time has no meaning here."

The Doctor grinned and looked around. "Yes. Yes, that is true, of course."

Just, there was one thing...

"I see, you are not surprised by the TARDIS, aren't you?"

Sherlock grinned, really grinned, and leaned his head back against the backrest of the armchair. "Oh, well, I was a bit too busy being concerned about your well-being." He paused. "Though, I have to admit, I was a bit shocked when I finally realized where I was. Even I wouldn't have thought that the blue box would be so big inside."

However, of course Sherlock could explain why. For sure. The Doctor didn't even ask, because he was sure Sherlock wouldn't stop talking once he was in his element.

But, who would have thought that he would take it _that_ well?

Well...

The Time Lord stood up and Sherlock leaned forward, almost as if he was expecting the Doctor to keel over.

"I am fine." The Doctor said, again, as he walked towards the big mirror at the wall. He wanted to make sure that he was in one piece. "Really, I feel good. Much better than before."

_Now, that I am not on the verge of dying, now that I am back in my ship, now that-_

"What is this!" The Time Lord shrieked as he leaned forward, his wide eyes looking back at him.

He hadn't changed much. Not really. Well, actually he looked like he had been looking since the beginning of this regeneration, expect for his left eye...

It was dark brown now.

And, now that he focused, he noticed that he couldn't see quite as well as before. Everything was a bit blurry around the edges...

"Oh no, really?! Of all things that could have stayed, of all things that could have been replaced, of all things it's a few freckles and one of those stupid eyes?!" And now that he thought about it, his hair seemed to be a bit wilder than before...

He grabbed said hair in frustration, but he let go of it again so that it stood up to all sides; better one of those eyes with bad sight than no eye at all, right? Imagine having just one eye...

"Urgh, well, it could have been worse. At least I am alive and well,right? Right? Yes, right." He nodded to himself and turned around.

Sherlock was still watching him, now with a frown upon his face, and the Doctor, who had his arms outstretched to his sides to show Sherlock that he was _almost_ himself again, let his arms drop again. "What is the matter?" He asked, worried now.

Was something not alright?

"It's just..." Sherlock's brow furrowed even more. "Is it just your appearance that has changed?...Or...has something else changes as well...?" The detective trailed off, lost in thoughts.

The Doctor stood there, not knowing what Sherlock was talking about, until it hit him; of course, of course! The Phoenix, he was talking about the Phoenix!

And now, now that Sherlock had mentioned it...

"I don't know..." The Doctor answered, slowly. He tried to find it, the spark, the darkness inside, but there was...nothing. "I think it is gone now."

Sherlock nodded, though his lips were still pressed together into a thin line. His brown locks framed his pale face and made him even paler.

"I can't remember!" The Time Lord tried to excuse himself. "I mean, _my_ _old me_ doesn't _remember_ how it felt, and I just remember the _pain_ so..." The Doctor shrugged his shoulders, feeling a bit helpless because he really couldn't tell if it was gone or not.

All he could remember was that everything had happened like it should have happened. His regeneration, Ten to Eleven, had happened exactly like it should have...

However, he, Eleven, had a different view on Ten's regeneration than Ten, and everything was so confusing, and why couldn't he remember?

"Let us hope that it is gone." Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes. He seemed tired.

The Doctor nodded, but then remembered that Sherlock couldn't see that with his eyes closed. "Yes." He rasped.

They were quiet for a few minutes, the soft humming of the engines of the TARDIS the only sound around them. She was so glad that he was back, he could feel her relief and joy as if it was his own, but still...

There was this confusion inside him, this sadness, and he couldn't place it.

The Time Lord cleared his throat, his hands fumbling with the sleeves of his torn and bloody shirt. Sam's sweater was gone, as well as Sam.

He should probably change his clothes. Yes, yes that was a good idea.

It was really confusing, and time and space are difficult to explain.

Sometimes even the Doctor was confused.

The future never happened, _would_ never happen, but that didn't mean that the things that had happened there weren't _real_.

It was different, though, with all things.

Sam, the _future_ Sam, was gone now because the future, including future Sam, would _change_ as soon as the TARDIS was back in the right time stream.

However, the happenings in said future _had happened_ for _them_ , for the Doctor and his current companions, they _had lived_ the future.

Maybe you could call it an echo.

Remnants, or splinters of the shattered future which had survived the destruction of said future, and were now floating through time and space.

Confusing, right?

"Are you glad?" The Doctor asked, as he moved along the wall in search for the door to the closet. To his closet, the one that was everywhere in the TARDIS since the TARDIS could let it appear everywhere...

That was quite handy.

Well, the whole ship was handy and lovely.

_Yes, yes! I love you, too._

"Glad?" Sherlock asked, and the Doctor was sure that one of his eyebrows was raised. "Glad about _what_ exactly?"

The Doctor rolled his eyes but smiled as his fingers finally found the handle to the closet. "Seeing John again, of course! Being back! I am sure you can't wait to see him again!" He opened the door and grabbed the first shirt in the line, which happened to be too blue for his red tie, but better blue than green, because green was really not his color.

Sherlock was oddly silent as the Doctor changed his clothes, and he didn't answer, so the Doctor turned around, his head tilted. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock was looking down at his hands, a sad expression on his face.

"I can't...I can't see John again."

The Doctor snorted and stopped buttoning up his shirt. "Excuse me, but what are you talking about?"

Sherlock sighed and looked up, his eyes full of grief. "I am from the future, Doctor. Yes, technically this future never happened, but I have lived there, for three years, which means-"

"- that, basically, you are three years from the future now, yes, I see..."

Well, _technically_ he was three years from the future...

Sherlock sighed deeply, his fingers tightening around each other.

"That doesn't mean that you can't see him again!" The Doctor shook his head in disbelief. How long had Sherlock been thinking about this?

For how long had he been suffering?

Did he really think that he wouldn't be able to see John again?

"This is a time machine, remember? This gorgeous girl will be able to drop you off in the right time and the right place!" The Doctor smiled widely, trying to give Sherlock new hope, but the detective just sighed again.

"No. Because he will have moved on. He thinks I am dead. I don't know what he will do if I suddenly appear right in front of his, our, door, and who knows if he will still live there?"

Excuses.

Those words were cheap excuses.

Sherlock's shoulders slumped forward. "Who knows if he will still remember me..."

That was enough now! The Doctor walked up to Sherlock and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him violently. "Don't you say that, Sherlock Holmes! If there is one thing that John Watson won't do then it is forgetting you! You should know that!" The Doctor let go of Sherlock, who looked rather shocked now, his pale eyes wide and his hair ruffled. "I will drop you off, right were we left in time, and you will tell him! You will tell him that you will come home!" The Doctor leaned back. "You'll tell him to wait, three years, or so help me I'll tell him if you don't!"

_You don't even need to wait three years, Sherlock._

_Those three years, they didn't affect your body, your age, only your soul._

_You could return._

_You know that, don't you?_

_..._

_Of course you do._

Sherlock just stared up at him, and he seemed surprise, was surprised, and the Doctor was sure that he would agree, that he would come to his sense now.

"No."

Now it was the Doctor who was baffled.

"No?" He asked, slowly, sitting down onto the bed, his eyes on Sherlock. What did he mean, no?...

"No." Sherlock said, again. His voice was strong. "I don't want him to wait for me. I want him to live his life. A life that I took from him by getting him involved into all...this." He gestured with his hands in the air.

He probably meant the whole situation they were in.

"He won't recover if he's waiting for me, not knowing if I will come back. I don't want him to end like Sam, the future Sam, and believe me, I know how _he_ did end up." The detective paused. "Sam was broken. Because he had been _waiting_ for his brother to return." Sherlock smiled as he added, "And John will find someone. A nice woman, someone to talk to."

"I was jealous and always in the way...I looked at him as a kind of property, a friend that was only meant for me... And I think that the three years without me will do him good."

Maybe that was right, but one thing was for sure; this was breaking Sherlock's heart, and the Doctor couldn't have that. "Are you sure, Sherlock?" He asked, leaning his elbows onto his legs. "If you would want I could drop you off where we left. Okay, you wouldn't even _be_ from the future, not really, and-"

Sherlock shook his head, his face grim. "No. No Doctor, it is alright. I think the world had enough Sherlock Holmes for now. Three years, maybe, and I will be back."

No.

No, that was not true.

"Sherlock, you have done-"

"- more than enough for now."

And that was when the Doctor realized that Sherlock was tired.

Tired of the people judging him, tired of the expectations they had, tired of the man they had labeled him, tired of his _name_.

Yes, Sherlock could go back to John.

_He could_.

The 3 years he had lived in the future _had never happened_ , not really.

Yes, he did _remember_ them, yes, he _had lived_ them ,but no, technically they never happened, and that was why Sherlock hadn't been gone, not for real.

Sherlock knew that. He was smart.

He had figured it out already.

But, he didn't want to go back.

He could go - but he didn't.

The Doctor sighed and shook his head slightly. "You are incredible stupid for being so smart..."

Sherlock just smiled in return, though he was everything else than happy.

"You will end up alone, all on your own, you know that, don't you?" The Doctor eyed Sherlock, urging him to change his mind, but the detective stayed stubborn. "I know how it feels to be alone." The Doctor continued. "It's not good, never good, not for too long. You need someone, friends-"

"I don't have _friends_." Sherlock answered, and his gaze was cold again as he glanced down at his hands. "I don't _need_ them. Alone is all I have, and it's enough for now."

Ah, stubborn, so stubborn.

Maybe he would change his mind.

Maybe.

"No." The Doctor agreed. "You don't need friends. You are capable to survive on your own, I am sure, but it's not about _needing_ them. It's about _letting them in_."

Sherlock looked up, a frown upon his face, and the Doctor smiled gently.

"Maybe you don't necessarily _need_ friends." He took a deep breath and stood up, smoothing his shirt down. "But what would we, you, be _without_ friends? Without people who _care_ about you."

Sherlock was silent.

The Doctor continued, "And even you have friends, Sherlock, yes, yes you do, don't look at me like that! We are you friends, and we won't let you down, though-" The Doctor raised his hand to stop Sherlock from interrupting him. "I accept your decision. If that's what you want, then that's what you want. Just..." The Time Lord's mismatched eyes met the pale blue one's of the detective. "Just remember that we are here. You just have to let us in, okay?"

Sherlock swallowed hard, and for a split second the Doctor could see the gratefulness flickering across the pale face.

"If you say so."

The Doctor didn't ask him about John again.

Didn't ask if he should tell John that Sherlock was alive.

Didn't ask anything.

And, Sherlock didn't say anything.

The TARDIS whispered softly, telling him to go and look for the Master, who was playing with the console.

_He is so annoying!_ She mumbled. _l don't like him._

Of course she didn't. Who would, after what he had done?

"You should get some sleep." The Doctor nodded towards the bed. "I have to ..."

"I know." Sherlock rolled his eyes, but he wasn't annoyed. It was more because he had already figured out what the Doctor was about to do.

"Good luck."

Good luck? What for?

The Doctor walked towards the door but stopped in the doorway, his hand on the frame.

"You can travell with me." He offered, his voice low and meaningful.

Sherlock didn't answer, and the Doctor sighed.

The TARDIS was humming, ranting about the Master all the while during the short walk upstairs. The poor old girl was really upset, and the Doctor apologized for the Master's rude behavior. Luckily his girl wasn't too angry.

His shoes were clacking with every step he took on the glass.

The engine was louder here, mostly because of the tube in the middle of the console. The Doctor noticed some loose cables underneath the stairs, and made a mental note for himself to repair the mess as soon as he had time for it.

Anyway, he was sure the TARDIS would remind him of doing his task.

The Doctor arrived at the top of the stairs, on the platform, and he immediately saw the Master's blond hair behind the tube. The other Time Lord was busy playing around with the different buttons and controllers, but the Doctor was sure that he had noticed him.

The TARDIS hissed, telling the Doctor to tell the Master that he should stop, because no, he wasn't listening to her.

The Doctor sighed, running his hand through his wild hair as he slowly approached the Master.

"I see that you have fun."

The Master didn't look up, but the Doctor could see his expression becoming harder, colder. His whole body seemed to turn into a defensive posture, clearly telling the Doctor that he wasn't welcome around the Master.

The Doctor noticed that the blond Time Lord wore his old clothes again, and his hair was dirty. The Master didn't seem to mind that, though.

If he missed the suit? And his house? And everything?

For sure he did.

"And _I_ see that you are alive." The Master uttered bitterly, without looking up. He switched one handle and the TARDIS began to make a rattling sound.

"Stop that, will you!" The Doctor couldn't help but to snap. He rushed to the Master's side and pushed him away from the console to set things right again.

"She already suffered enough, thanks to you! Also, she's utterly angry at you."

The Doctor was sure that the Master rolled his eyes behind his back.

"Who cares? Ah, right-" He paused, and his voice became darker. "You do, oh great Doctor! I am so sorry for trying to fly that stupid ship!"

The TARDIS shrieked in outrage, and the Master gasped in shock as the railing underneath his hands buzzed with electricity.

"Don't anger her, stupid! She's already mad, don't make it worse!"

He turned around; the Master had his arms crossed in front of his chest, his lips pressed together into a thin line as he looked everywhere else but the Doctor.

"Can't get any worse." He murmured.

A sudden pang of regret hit the Doctor as he saw the Master standing there, his shoulders slouched forward and his eyes cold, and he sighed deeply.

This was the Master's fault, it really was, had been.

But still...

"You could have destroyed the Universe..."

The Master huffed in annoyance, still not looking at the Doctor. He looked pale, the Doctor noticed, even in the warm light of the console room, and his brown eyes seemed darker than usually.

"Didn't happen, though, didn't it?"

The Doctor smiled slightly, but stopped again because the Master still refused to look at him. "Why did you help us?" He asked and walked right up in front of the Master. Maybe now he would look at him, but the Master didn't. Instead he looked at something behind the Doctor, somewhere over is right shoulder.

"Because I had to!" The Master spat, anger in his voice, but the Doctor had the feeling that this was not real anger...

It also wasn't the real answer.

"Because I had no other choice, that's why!"

"It was your fault." The Doctor replied, and the Master laughed bitterly.

"Oh, was it? Right, now that you mentioned it..." He paused and his eyes darkened even further. "Don't rub it into my face, alright?! I know I've messed things up a bit, no need to cry over spilled milk."

His eyes shifted to focus on the Doctor's face.

Their eyes met, and first the Master was all angry and full of rage and regret and bitterness, but then his expression changed, the look of surprise flying across his face.

"Your eyes." He said, and the Doctor could see it, the surprise, the longing...

He could see it, and he knew why the Master was so bitter.

How could he forget?

_Ah,right..._

Because he had to forget. For the sake of the Universe.

The Master noticed the sad glance that Doctor gave him, and immediately all emotions vanished from his face.

"Well, that means you have to wear glasses from now."

The Doctor laughed and rubbed the back of his neck, nodding to himself.

"Yes, it does..." He grinned and leaned against the railing next to the Master. "But, hey! Glasses are cool,right?" He beamed and turned his head to look at the Master.

The Master, though, looked everything else than amused. He stared ahead, deep in thoughts while his jaw was clenched.

_You are not him, you are not him, you are not!_

"I am sorry."

The Master furrowed his brow. "What for?" He asked, seemingly bored while staring ahead.

_For dying. For regenerating. For not being able to remember. For not being who I once was._

The Doctor shrugged his shoulders instead of saying anything that was on his mind.

"I know that you loved him. You still do - No, don't deny it, I can read your face like an open book." He took a deep breath, his gaze directed at the ceiling while the Master stared at him. "I am not him. Won't be, ever again. You don't like me, I know. You probably can't put up with that stupid personality that I am right now. And I bet you don't even like my face. I am sorry for that. I would try to change, I would, but it is pointless. He's gone, I am here, and you have to live with that."

The Master stared at the Doctor, his brown eyes wide as looked at the other man.

The Doctor straightened his back, his hands tightening around the railing behind himself.

His hearts were pounding in his chest as he held the intense gaze of the Master.

"You are unbelievable." The Master spat, and it was not what the Doctor had expected. Maybe he should have, but he didn't. "You think I need this!?"

The Doctor blinked in surprise. "Need what? I only tried to-"

"Stop pitying me!" The blond Time Lord leaned back, away from the Doctor, his angry eyes on the hurt face of the Doctor. "I don't need your pity, or your damn sympathy, don't you get it!? Your face alone makes me sick and I hate your attitude, I hate the way you are the most childish old man I have ever seen and I hate everything you are!" He took a deep breath and turned around, kicking the console of the TARDIS while doing so. The ship hissed and rattled, hurt by the behavior of the Time Lord. "So stop bloody worrying about me-" He spun around to face the Doctor again "- and put yourself together for once! You are so embarrassing!"

Those words hit home, and the Doctor bit back a gasp. His hands tightened even further around the cold steel of the railing as he raised his head high.

He felt like crying, maybe, but he was too proud to show it now, not now, not right now. He was not afraid of crying, but he knew that,right now, it would lead to nothing, besides the Master laughing at him.

There was a sudden coldness, spreading inside him, and he realized that is was anger.

And, there were many things that he could say now, things which had been running through his head for years after years, things that would hurt the Master just as he had hurt the Doctor, but no, he wouldn't say anything. He was not like the Master, would never be, at least that was what he told himself.

But,than again, it wasn't the Master's fault that he was who he was now.

"Stop yelling." He just said, and his voice sounded cold to his own ears. "I can hear you quite well." It was steady, his voice, and it surprised himself. He had the urge to look away, to grab his hands and look at the floor, but he didn't. He didn't move.

The Master laughed and grabbed his blond hair, his face a pained grimace, a thing between a grin and a desperate frown. As if he was close to crying, too.

"I am so sick of you! Of this!"

The light of the control room made the shadows underneath his eyes even darker, and his blond hair glowed almost white. Like a halo made of light.

The Doctor pressed his lips together as he watched the Master ranting about him.

It would be a lie to say that he didn't mind, but the fact that he Master appeared to be close to a mental breakdown lessened the hardness of his words.

He didn't mean them the way he said them.

He didn't know what he just said.

He was just desperate and didn't know how to handle it.

That was all.

"I hate it! I hate all of it, everything!"

The Doctor ignored the words, ignored the rage, and walked up to the Master, who was clutching the console with his hands now, his head bowed while he whispered something in Gallifreyan. His shoulders were shaking, with anger or silent sobs wasn't clear.

"I just want it to end!"

The Doctor stopped, standing close to the Master now, right beside him, looking down upon his bowed head.

He tried to find words.

He couldn't find them.

No language could describe the feelings he had now, the words he wanted to say. And so he leaned closer, his arms outstretched, and hugged the Master.

Carefully, carefully, so he wouldn't be pushed away.

"Let fucking go of me! Don't touch me!" The Master hissed, and tried to wriggle free, but the Doctor just tightened his arms around him.

"No." He said, calmly, not letting go.

"What, no!?" The Master nearly yelled into the Doctor's ear, his hands trying to push him away. "I said let go!"

"I know." The Doctor replied calmly.

The TARDIS hummed softly. She was wondering, but not asking questions.

She was watching.

"Then why won't you let go?!"

The Doctor smiled slightly, even if the Master couldn't see it.

"Because I let go of you often enough."

The Master stopped struggling, and the Doctor could hear a sharp gasp. However, the Master didn't say anything else, something that surprised the Doctor.

They stood there for quiet some time, silently, until the Master broke the embrace.

"That doesn't change a thing!" He grumbled. "Not a single one! You hear me!?"

The Doctor smiled.

"Yes, sure. Of course."

And then it was over, just like that, and everything was back to normal.

He paused, then he clapped his hands, a grin spreading over his lips.

"Would you like some tea? I think that is a brilliant idea, isn't it? Tea?"

Wasn't it?


	22. Is it love? Or madness?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don't kiss your best friend

**Chapter 21**

Dean was angry, Castiel could see it by the way he paced up and down the big room.

His jaw was clenched, his hands balled into fists, and his brow was furrowed while he stared ahead.

Furthermore he was avoiding to look at Castiel, and that always meant that he was angry at Castiel.

"You are angry." The angel pointed out, even if it was more than clear.

Dean snorted while he continued to walk through the room. Sometimes he stopped to look at the big bed, or at the wardrobe, or at the smooth yellowish walls, but he never once stopped to turn around.

"No shit, Sherlock." The hunter hissed.

Castiel furrowed his brow and tilted his head. "I am not Sherlock Holmes..." He began, but Dean's groan stopped him. "I fucking know that you are not Sherlock Holmes!"

Castiel was startled for a moment. "But, I do not-" He stopped.

Oh. Another reference.

Castiel swallowed hard and clasped his hands in front of his body, watching Dean.

"Why are you angry at me, Dean?" His voice was calm though he felt slightly nervous. What had he done to anger Dean? Was it something he did? Something he had said?

Dean spun around on his heels, one finger raised to point at Castiel, who stood in the middle of the room like a wrong placed piece of furniture.

"You saved my life!"

Castiel blinked in confusion.

"Of course I did..." He began,slowly, not sure why Dean would be angry about this. "But I fail to understand why this makes you angry."

Dean's jaw clenched even more. "You could have died!" He spit out, his fists trembling, though Castiel was not sure if it was because of anger.

Again, Castiel failed to understand why Dean would be bothered about him risking his life for Dean. This hadn't been the first time that he had put his own life over that of Dean Winchester.

"But I did not." He replied, with a calm and steady voice.

Dean laughed bitterly and shook his head. His eyes were a blazing storm as he raised his head to look at Castiel. "You are so fucking reckless! Do you want to fucking die?!"

He was hurt.

He was disappointed.

Two things that Castiel had promised himself to never let Dean feel again because of his actions.

"I am just trying to pay my dept." He almost whispered, and he couldn't bear to look at Dean any longer; instead his eyes moved to the floor where they surveyed the old wooden floor of the TARDIS.

That really was beautiful wood.

"So saving my life is paying your debt?!" The wooden floor creaked under Dean's shoes as he walked towards Castiel, who stood still like a pillar.

"No of course not! I-" Castiel began, hurt that Dean would think something like that, but Dean interrupted him, "How is killing yourself paying your debt _to anyone_?!"

Now the hunter was really angry.

Castiel swallowed and looked up. "I did not intend to kill myself..." His voice was not as strong and confident as it had been in the beginning of this conversation, though he spoke the truth; he didn't intend to kill himself, because that surely wouldn't be a reasonable way to pay for his sins.

However, Dean's anger made him uncomfortable and nervous.

"But you damn sure act like you do!" The hunter growled.

His eyes were very green.

Castiel flinched slightly. Dean's voice was louder now that he stood in front of Castiel.

"Dean!" Castiel said, his brow furrowed. "I did this for you! I tried to protect you!" His voice was raising now, too.

"Yeah, I know!" Dean sighed, slightly less angry than a few seconds before. "But you should have let me help you! You...You can't always do things on your own..." He trailed off.

Castiel tilted his head again, his eyes narrowing. "Dean."

Dean, who had been looking at his shoes, looked up to meet Castiel's intense stare.

"Dean, stop doing this." He shook his head. "I told you; there was no way for you to help me during the attack. Stop blaming yourself. I am fine, Dean. I am alive." His gaze softened. "There is no need for you to be angry at me, or at yourself."

Dean pressed his lips together and ran his hand through his hair.

He stood so close that Castiel could count the freckles on his skin.

Not that he needed to, of course. He already knew how many freckles Dean Winchester had.

"But, why..."

_Why do you always save me?_

_Why do you risk your life for me, for us?_

_Why are you doing this, Castiel?_

_Why?_

Castiel took a deep breath and smiled slightly, though it was a sad smile.

"Do I really need to answer that?"

_I did not chose falling in love with you, Dean._

_It just happened._

__

Dean looked at him, really looked at him, and said no word. There was this glimmer, this gleam in his eyes, almost as if he knew what Castiel was thinking.

Instead of saying anything he leaned forward and closed the gap between himself and Castiel.

Castiel was more than surprised,too shocked to do anything else than standing still while Dean's soft lips were pressed against his own.

He didn't understand.

"That is not what best friends do..."Castiel breathed as Dean leaned back again, repeating the words that Dean had said to him after their first kiss.

Dean's curious eyes watched Castiel and the hunter began to smirk awkwardly.

"Yeah well...Maybe we're not _best friends_...anymore."

Castiel blinked, his brow furrowed while he licked his lips. He could swear that he could still taste Dean on them.

"But last time..." The angel began, "...last time you told me not to kiss you."

"Yeah..."Dean raised his hand to rub his neck, looking bashfully at his feet, almost as if he couldn't find the right words and was now struggling with himself. "I changed my mind. Kinda." He paused and rocked his head from side to side. "Okay, well, I didn't. You've surprised me back then and actually I -" He stopped and shook his head. He was looking at Castiel now, his eyes bright. "Fuck Cas, do we have to talk about this right now?"

Castiel almost smiled. "Well...I assume it would be appropriate."

_You just kissed me._

_Dean Winchester._

_Are you sure? About this?_

Dean rolled his eyes and growled, yes he growled, "Fuck that!"

And grabbed Castiel by the collar of his coat, startling the angel.

Well, Dean was always full of surprises..

"We can talk about that later." Dean said, and Castiel could feel his rapid heartbeat against his chest. His own heart was beating rather fast as well, and yes, he felt rather...odd.

Not in a bad way, just...

_Odd._

And somehow also really good

"But-" Castiel began, however, Dean silenced him with another quick kiss, this time pressing a little harder against Castiel's lips, maybe because his need for Castiel was stronger than either of them had expected, or maybe because he really wanted the angel to shut up.

"Later."

And this time Castiel didn't argue.

It was all teeth and hands then.

Castiel wasn't used to this, he had never really tried this, just once with Meg, but that was nothing in compare to this.

Of course he could explain why his heart was beating faster than it normally did, why he was out of breath, why his hands were trembling as he grabbed Dean's shirt, but his thoughts were sluggish even if his mind was racing and it was new, all new.

He had seen them, humans, kissing, having sex, all this, but he had never done it himself, he had just watched.

That was why he was confused, at first, when Dean licked over his lower lip. However, it seemed a good idea to open his mouth, and that was exactly what he did.

Soon their tongues were battling for dominance, their hands fumbling with each others clothes.

Castiel couldn't concentrate on anything that wasn't Dean. He could taste him, smell him, see him, and it was wonderful.

He was everywhere.

Castiel almost gasped in surprise as they stumbled backwards, causing them to fall onto the bed. The mattress was soft and gave away under their weight.

Dean chuckled against Castiel's lips. They only parted once or twice so Dean could get some air into his lungs.

Castiel had to admit that everything was happening rather fast.

Unexpected.

Mere hours, days, ago, Dean had been different, or at least he had had a different way of showing his affection for Castiel.

Now, however, he didn't seem to have any problems at all. He even seemed comfortable, judging by the way he pressed himself against Castiel's body.

"Dean-"Castiel began but groaned when Dean pressed his hips down against Castiel's. A spark of arousal lit up inside Castiel's stomach and he felt himself blushing immediately.

"Dean,wait-" His voice was hoarse and his fingers trembling as he buried them in the fabric of Dean's jacket.

This was new.

It felt so different.

Dean moved a bit, half lying, half crouching between Castiel's legs, his lips moving down Castiel's neck, sucking at the skin.

He hadn't known that he wanted this.

He still didn't know if he did.

He had been fine with being around Dean, looking at Dean, touching Dean from time to time. He would be fine if it would stay that way.

This was a new situation. This was different. He knew where this was getting, he wasn't stupid, not at all, and of course he was not afraid, never, not if it was about Dean.

Still, there was this hesitation.

It wasn't doubt. Of course it wasn't.

He trusted Dean.

Though,still...Castiel couldn't describe it.

"Dean, wait." Castiel mumbled against Dean's lips, trying to push the hunter into a sitting position by pressing his hands against Dean's shoulders, but the hunter wouldn't notice, wouldn't react. So Castiel tried again, with a bit more force, and his voice was stronger now, not just a whisper. "Dean, I said _wait_."

"Cas..." The hunter mumbled against the angel's skin, his fingers sliding underneath the shirt and skimming over the smooth skin. "I've been wanting this..."

Castiel furrowed his brow, his hands reaching down to stop Dean's hands from touching him, so he would _listen_ , but he couldn't move, trapped between Dean and the mattress. He tried to wiggle free, tried to push Dean off, but it didn't work.

No matter how much power he used, Dean was still able to hold him down, something that _shouldn't_ be possible.

Something that _wasn't_ possible.

"Stop this!" Castiel's voice was louder now, firm. "Stop this now!"

Dean didn't stop, his hands moving upwards, pushing the shirt up with them. The air was cold against Castiel's skin, but right now he really couldn't care less about that.

"Dean!"

A chuckle was to be heard, and Castiel hissed through his teeth, his head flying to the side to look at-

"Lucifer!"

The fallen archangel grinned lazily, his hands folded over his crossed legs. He had his head tilted to one side, his curious eyes watching Dean and Castiel with interest.

"Having fun?"

Castiel growled, his teeth pressed together.

How.

Why.

Why was Lucifer here. He hadn't been here, not the last time.

Why now.

How?

"Stop this! Lucifer!" Castiel struggled against Dean, his fingernails scratching over the hunter's back. Dean didn't notice, though, and continued to bite Castiel's neck, his skin, like an animal. There was nothing soft or tender about this anymore. His teeth sunk into Castiel's skin and tore at it as if he wanted to eat him, his hands grabbed him with so much force that bruises would form.

"Stop what?" Lucifer asked, his eyes big and innocent. "This is what you will get, Castiel. He desires not you but your body, like an animal that craves for food." He shrugged his shoulders. "I am just trying to get you prepared for what is to come, since you stubbornly refuse to listen to my words."

Castiel shook his head from side to side, his hands pushing against Dean to stop him from doing what he was doing.

"No!" He hissed." No,you are wrong!"

Lucifer chuckled,his head tilting even further to the side. It looked bizarre, like a hawk watching its prey.

"How can you be sure about that?"

Castiel laughed dryly, but was stopped by a hand around his throat, cold hands digging into the soft skin of his throat, and he began to cough. It was a reflex. He didn't need air.

Usually.

Now, however, he did.

Panic began to well up inside him and his hands flew up to scratch over Dean's hands, trying to loosen the vice-like fingers around his throat.

"He is human, Castiel. He is a monkey, a stupid meat bag. All they want is pleasure. They are driven by their sins. "Lucifer sighed and rolled his eyes at his own words. "Listen to me, sounding all formal like Michael."

Castiel's only reaction was to wince, because Dean had begun to press his other hand down onto Castiel's exposed chest. And he didn't stop. He just pressed and pressed and Castiel was sure he would break bones.

"De-an!" Castiel begged between shallow gasps, and even if this wasn't real, of course it wasn't, wasn't, never, even if it wasn't real, it felt real. And it did hurt. Physically and mentally,...

He had to break out. Had to stop this hallucination! Lucifer was trying to break him, slowly, slowly, but he wouldn't bend, wouldn't break, he could do it,he was strong enough, he could break free!

Bones broke. Castiel gasped in shock and pain as three of his ribs gave away under the pressure of Dean's weight.

The hand pushed further and further and Castiel began to squirm in earnest now, the hot white pain running through his whole chest.

Dean looked up, a grin on his lips.

His eyes were black as the night.

"So beautiful, Cas." He slurred, pushing harder down onto the already broken bones. Castiel bucked up, trying to headbutt the demon. However, he failed, because Dean increased the pressure on his throat and forced the angel back down onto the bed.

_This pain!_

_This is not Dean, not Dean, this is not real, this is no real pain-_

"Ungh!" Castiel bit his lower lip as Dean rammed his knee into Castiel's crotch, a response to Castiel's attempted headbutt.

"Well, look at you, Castiel. You aren't even strong enough to fight a simple illusion of mine. " Lucifer sighed dramatically and leaned back in his chair. "That's really pitiful."

Castiel coughed in pain, not looking at Lucifer, and swallowed hard as he stared up into the midnight eyes of the demon, of Dean.

He was right.

He was pitiful.

He was weak.

He was nothing in compare to his brothers and sisters, nothing in compare to the angel he once had been.

"Stop this..." It was no demand now, not anymore, it was a half whispered plea. His voice was not broken, though. "Stop this, anything but this-"

_Not Dean, not again Dean, always Dean, anything but this-_

Lucifer laughed.

He laughed loud and merciless.

"Oh, but why? This is so much fun, isn't it, Dean?"

Dean just nodded in response, grinning down at Castiel.

"This is not Dean!" Castiel spat, but was silenced by fingers digging into the bruised skin over his broken bones. They scratched and clawed until they began to draw blood.

All the while Dean grinned down at him.

This time his eyes weren't black.

_Stop, stop, wake up Castiel, wake up, wake up!_

His hands balled into fists, he began to lash out, began to kick out, began to fight, but the fingers against his skin were digging and digging until they were bloody,until they broke through skin and muscles.

Until they reached bones.

Castiel cringed and a gasp of pain escaped his lips, his eyes tightly shut against the pain, as if it would help to block it out.

_So much pain!_

"I've always wondered if angels are beautiful inside." Dean mused.

_He said that, in Hell, he said that, before, I remember!_

"No!" Castiel croaked. "You really-" He hissed as the fingers digged deeper, reaching for the broken bones, scraping at them, digging deeper into the body. "You really don't want to know..."

He could feel blood welling up inside his throat and mouth as one of his ribs pierced his left lung but he forced it back down.

He screamed and Dean smiled, his eyes curving upwards.

"I'm going to take you apart."

Castiel's head turned to the side, his wide eyes glassy, helplessly pleading Lucifer for help.

But Lucifer was gone.

"No... " Castiel shook his head, his brown hair hanging into his eyes. "No!"

Panic began to take over, crushing his throat. "No, don't do this to me, Lucifer! Don't!"

The walls of the TARDIS began to melt away like watercolors on a wet paper, the colors splashing over the floor like blood. Black and red began to reach through the brightness, like tendrils of shadows, like tongues of hellfire, creeping over the now white walls, reaching for the bed, for Castiel and Dean, taking over his vision, taking over everything until nothing was left but darkness and pain.

"We're going to have so much fun." Dean leaned further down, his breath hot against Castiel's skin. His face looked like a mask in the red light of the fire as he put his finger against his mouth and licked away the blood; Castiel's blood. "I'm going to make you scream, angel boy."

...

He didn't know what had happened.

Or how it had happened.

One second ago they had been kissing, making out, whatever the fuck you want to call it. Their mouths had been crashing together, their fingers grabbing each others clothes.

They had ended up on the bed, eventually, and he would have never thought that they would come this far.

But, something had happened...

A minute ago he had been kissing Cas, and Hell, Cas had been kissing him back like there was no tomorrow, but then, suddenly, he had stopped.

That was when Dean had asked, "Cas?" with his eyes still closed.

But Castiel hadn't answered, his mouth slack against Deans, and his hands had stopped roaming over Dean's back.

So of course Dean had leaned back to look at Castiel.

Blue eyes looked through him now, right through him, wide and unseeing. Castiel's mouth was slightly agape, his face pale so that his hair seemed too dark against the white skin.

He wasn't breathing, not that he needed air, but usually he was breathing just because that was what humans normally did. Now, however, his chest was calm, motionless.

"Fuck!" Dean leaned further upwards onto his knees, running a hand through his hair. "Cas? Hey! Are you okay?"

Of course he wasn't.

Dean cursed again, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

Was this his fault?

But, how, if so?

"Cas, snap out of it!"

_Please, please, please!_

But Castiel didn't respond, and so Dean leaned forward onto his elbows again, his chest mere inches apart from Castiel's.

Maybe it was just a phase, maybe Cas would come back to himself within a few minutes.

Maybe.

"Cas, hey." Dean reached for Castiel's face, his fingers barely touching the angel's skin, as Castiel suddenly bucked up and pressed his hand against Dean's face, slamming him backwards and off of the bed.

"The Hell!" Dean gasped, his hands stopping him from crashing onto the ground face first. "Cas, calm down!"

Easier said than done.

The angel was now lashing out with his hands and legs, his back arching off the bed while his eyes were rolled backwards.

He made pained noises, as if he tried to breathe but couldn't, and his fingers were formed into claws.

"Cas!" Dean didn't waste another minute, instead he jump up to his feet in order to rush to the angel's side, trying to pin him down onto the bed so he wouldn't hurt himself, but Castiel was an angel, and therefore much stronger than Dean.

Dean was thrown backwards again, his back hitting the nightstand next to the bed, and he hissed in pain.

There was no way of getting through.

Cas was far gone and his body was wrecked with spasms.

He couldn't do this alone, he could bring Cas back out of Lucifer's lala-land, he needed help; Cas was needing help.

And so Dean swayed back on his feet, the pain in his back sharp but bearable.

He limped to the door, his eyes never leaving Cas, who was still trashing with his arms and legs against the force that only he could see.

"Doctor!" Dean roared as he opened the door, his eyes still on Castiel.

"Help! I need help here!"

Castiel groaned loudly, his teeth pressed down against his lower lip. Small drops of blood ran down his chin because he had bitten through his lip.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Dean grabbed his hair, panic rising inside his chest.

"Don't do this to me, Cas!"

_Don't die. Don't be afraid. Don't be afraid of what is not real._

"What is going on here?!" The Doctor stormed into the room, his face earnest as he looked around. "Dean, the TARDIS called me-" He stopped in the middle of the sentence as he saw Castiel on the bed, his limbs twisted and his eyes white.

"Oh that is..." The Master's head popped up behind the door frame. "That looks awful!"

Dean was close to strangling the Master, but he held himself back.

The Doctor was at Castiel's side within mere minutes, worry visible on his kind face. "Oh my, oh my! That doesn't look good."

"Please, help him!" Dean begged, fucking begged, because he didn't know what to do. He couldn't help Castiel.

He never could.

The Doctor clicked his tongue, his brow furrowed as he lay his hands on either side of Castiel's face. The angel was still lashing out and his pained sounds had become small whimpering.

"What happened?" The Doctor demanded to know as he sat down on the bed next to Castiel's moving body.

Dean swallowed hard.

Yeah. What had happened?

_I can't just tell them about...us...!_

"I...I don't know..." The Doctor's eyes were sharp as he looked back at Dean.

"Okay..." Dean raised his hands in defeat. "We were...kinda...making out..." He mumbled, and he was sure that he was blushing, but fuck that!

The Master snickered but stopped as both , Dean and the Doctor, gave him an angry glare.

"That, however, doesn't answer why he is in that state." The Doctor leaned down until his forehead touched Castiel's. He didn't judge Dean, didn't comment on what had been said.

The Angel began to squirm in earnest, his hands flying up to push the Doctor away, but the Time Lord didn't move.

Eventually, Cas' hands dropped down onto the bed and his trashing and lashing out became small movements, until his motions stopped completely. His eyes, however, were rapidly moving under now closed lids, and his skin was damp with sweat and pale in the light of the room.

"So what-" Dean began, but the Doctor stopped him with one raised hand while he was not looking at Dean. "I don't know yet. He is still trapped inside his head, I guess." He turned around to Dean, and a shiver ran down Dean's spine as he saw the grim face of the usually so cheerful Time Lord.

"I need to take a closer look at this. This here, it was a spasm caused by something inside his head, something that has been triggered by...you."

Dean's eyes widened slightly.

So,it was his fault?

"But, I-"

The Doctor shook his head again. "Dean...I know you didn't mean to do this...But I think it would be the best if you would leave the room for a while. "

Dean's face fell and the Doctor added quickly. "Until we are sure that his condition is stable again."

"Yeah..." Dean rasped. "Alright, I got it..."

His fault.

He had triggered whatever it was that was inside Castiel's head now.

_Lucifer. It is Lucifer. It always is him, that bastard!_

_But, if it was him, why was it triggered by me..._

He was out of the room before the Doctor could say something else. His heart felt heavy and he felt sick as he walked past the Master, who followed him with his gaze.

The Master didn't say anything, no mocking words.

Dean was thankful for that.


	23. Hello, Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soon they would be back again.  
> Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, here you go! Another chappie!  
> Thanks for waiting + have a wonderful Christmas!

**Chapter 22**

Sam looked down at the dishes, a sight escaping his lips. His hands were cold from the water but he didn't feel like pouring more warm water into the sink. The hunter turned around, a slight frown upon his face.

John was lying on the couch, his back the Sam. He hadn't moved, not since they had arrived roughly one hour ago.

Sam felt sorry for him, he really did. Losing someone you know is the worst feeling ever, and Sam could write a book about people he had lost already. John had just lost his best friend, who was probably dead.

And no one knew that, besides him. Not yet.

He would be the one who would have to tell the others, their friends, the family, that Sherlock was gone.

That was a burden too heavy for a man alone.

The worst of all was probably that he hadn't been able to say goodbye to Sherlock.

Sam sighed again and turned back to the dishes, an uncomfortable feeling blooming inside his stomach. He had a bad feeling about this...

They should be back already.

The Doctor had said it would take him less than a minute, well, for Sam and John, but it was two hours ago now that they had left, and they still weren't back.

 _Don't worry, Sam, they'll come back,_ he told himself, his mouth a thin line as he let the water out of the sink.

"Hey, John! What about a cup of tea?" He yelled and turned back again to look at John.

The other man didn't answer, and Sam sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair as he shuffled back into the living room.

"Hey, man..." He tried, but John still didn't answer, his back to Sam and his face facing the sofa. "I know this sucks..."

_Oh well, here I go, comforting someone..._

"But there is still hope-"

John laughed dryly. "Hope? Hope? Sherlock is _dead_! There is no hope for him, or for anyone else!" Sam winced as John's voice cut through the air.

"There is no proof that he is dead, John." Sam said as he sat down into the armchair, his elbows resting on his knees as he leaned forward to look at John. "He disappeared, yes,but his body was not there. And without a dead body there is no proof that he _is_ dead, right?"

He didn't wait for John's answer and continued with a low and gentle tone. "This is your first time handling a supernatural situation, so I can't blame you for being upset. But you have to stay calm. There is still hope, believe me. I know that, right now, it doesn't look like it, but give it a few days and we might find a way to find him. " He paused and took a deep breath. "So, just because he isn't here doesn't mean that he is gone."

John didn't answer straight away but slowly the tension in his shoulders gave away.

"I just...I just can't believe that all this really...happened..." He sounded so lost and confused and Sam really felt sorry for him.

"I am sorry." He said. "Really. I probably can't imagine how you feel right now..."

And he truly couldn't, because for him supernatural things had been part of his life. He was a hunter, had been a hunter since... forever, he was used to some serious shit. However, John wasn't used to it, and Sam was surprised that he hadn't had a break down yet, like other people usually had when they came into contract with supernatural situations.

"I really suck at comforting others, I am sorry..." Sam laughed awkwardly and looked at his hands.

"No...It's okay." John answered, though Sam knew that everything was everything else than okay.

"Look, uhm...Why don't we drink some coffee or tea and talk a bit? I mean, talking is better than...silence..." _Than drowning in sadness..._

John nodded and sat up. He turned around to Sam, and the hunter could see that his eyes were glassy. It seemed that he had tried not to cry, but Sam was sure that had failed. Now he seemed a bit more steady, even if the sadness was still visible in his eyes.

Sam gave the army doctor a smile and stood up. He was halfway through the living room as the doorbell rang.

Immediately he turned around to look at John, who stared back at Sam. The hunter raised his eyebrows, "Shall I-?"

John nodded, and Sam hurried to the door with long strides.

It was them, had to be, he was sure. Who else could it be?

He yanked the door open without thinking twice. "Dean, I-"

"Hello, Sam."

...

He stared at his hands, the lights around him dim and comforting. He was sitting on one of the steps of the glass stairs, his arms resting on his legs while he stared at his hands without actually seeing them.

He had no clue how long he had been sitting here.

Sherlock had talked to him, a few minutes or a few hours ago, he couldn't remember, but neither the Doctor nor the Master had come out of the room.

There hadn't been any comforting words. Dean assumed that Sherlock didn't know how to comfort him, and that was why the detective had left soon after he had looked for Dean. If he had been looking for Dean in the first place...

Dean pressed his lips together. This sinking feeling inside his stomach was still there, still present, and he felt so utterly awful that he was close to vomiting.

He didn't know if Cas was alright.

If this was his fault...

He really didn't know what to do.

And he hated that feeling, that feeling of being powerless, useless...

His jaw clenched as he balled his hands into fists.

_Damn it! Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

He wanted to yell at someone, anyone, but there was no one but himself and the ship.

If he just knew what he had done wrong..

The ship hummed low and comforting and Dean was sure he could hear the soft whispering voice of a woman, but he couldn't make out any words.

At least he wasn't entirely alone.

He was startled out of his dark thoughts as someone sat down beside him. Dean looked up from his hands and was surprised to see the Master sitting next to him, watching him with curious eyes.

"What?!" Dean snapped.

The Master just shrugged his shoulders and leaned back, his arms on the stair behind them. "Don't know. You seemed all depressed and alone, so I was sent to keep you company." He coughed. "Well, I was _forced,_ to be honest..."

Dean rolled his eyes and looked back at his hands. "I don't need company."He growled. "Especially not from _you_."

Okay, that was rude, but he honestly didn't feel like talking to the Master right now. Of all the people that where inside the TARDIS the Master was the one whom Dean couldn't stand one bit.

"Oh, how comes that?" The Master asked in return, though the sarcasm in his voice didn't escape Dean's notice.

The hunter's eyes slid to the side to look at the Time Lord. His hair was almost white in the light of the TARDIS and the black of his hoodie made it even paler.

"Well, I don't know!" Dean turned his head to look at the Master, scorn flashing up in his eyes. "Maybe that's because, roughly a day ago, you were about to kill all of us? Or, maybe because you stole the ship? OH, or maybe because you _betrayed_ us? I dunno man, I honestly can't tell why I don't like you very much."

The Master smiled cooly. "Oh,I see...You're not as forgiving as others."

Dean snorted. "Oh, well, but maybe that's because we weren't even _friends_ to begin with."

The Master grinned, still without humor, and rolled his eyes. "Not really, no."

Dean glared at him, new anger welling up inside him.

Part of this was the Master's fault. This wouldn't have happened, they wouldn't be here, if the Master hadn't been such an asshole.

"Why are you still here, hm?" Dean asked, warily. "You've been the biggest fucker ever, I don't understand how the Doctor hasn't locked you away or something."

The Master sighed deeply and leaned his head back to look at the ceiling. "Why would _you_ care?"

"Oh-" Dean shrugged his shoulders and freely showed his anger. "-because you are crazy and still running around. Who knows if you will betray us again if you have the chance?!"

There was a flicker of pain flashing across the Master's face, and his eyes darkened, but it was only for a split second. Could have been the dim light, Dean couldn't tell.

"That's me, you stupid human! " His eyes slid to the side to look at Dean, like the eyes of a cat watching its prey. There was something dangerous in them. Something dark. "You can never trust me. The Doctor knows that."

"And still he always believes in you..." Dean muttered. "After everything..."

"Always." The Master closed his eyes, his hands balled into fists. "He's stupid, reckless, he does believe in the good and is too naïve to see that some things are lost forever." He sounded bitter. Dean asked himself if he was bitter about the Doctor or about himself.

"At least he tries." Dean spat back.

_Oh,right, Dean Winchester, you have all rights to judge him..._

The Master opened one eye to look at Dean, his face grim. "He tried and tried for years. Do you even know how old _he_ is? How old _we_ are?"

Dean didn't know. Old, he assumed. But he couldn't say how old.

The Master smiled triumphantly.

"hundreds of years." His voice darkened as well as the expression on his face, through there was pride in his voice as well. And now that Dean looked, really looked at the Master, he could see it, the ages, the years, hidden behind those dark eyes.

Dean had the feeling that the temperature in the console room had dropped a few degrees, but that was just his imagination, for sure.

_Living forever is no gift, Dean.  
_

_It's a burden._

"It's stupid, clinging to the things that are lost. That just stops you on your way."

"Trying to set things right is not stupid." Dean simply answered. "And just because _you_ stopped trying doesn't mean that it is wrong."

The Master laughed without humor, his gaze roaming over the console. "Such wise words from such a young man. However, you will never understand."

There was nothing to understand, but Dean didn't answer. He wasn't in the mood to argue with the Master, wasn't in the mood to argue with anyone.

He was tired and angry and all he wanted was to be back inside his beloved Impala with Sam and Cas at his side and music in his ears.

Was that too much to ask for?

Apparently, it was.

Dean knew that the Master didn't want to be here with him, but he didn't leave. If it was because he had been told to stay here or because he was too lazy to move, Dean didn't know, couldn't tell.

The Master wasn't easy to read, not like the Doctor, who seemed to be made of soft kittens and happiness, though even he had his dark side. He didn't seem to mind showing his emotions, though, whereas the Master seemed to wrap himself into a cloud of darkness and chaos, always careful not to show his weaknesses.

They were so different, Dean realized, but yet they couldn't stay away from each other.

The Master didn't hate the Doctor, even if he acted like he did.

 _Light and darkness_ , Dean thought bitterly. _They can't exist without the other_.

Neither of them said anything again. They sat there, on the stairs, silently, listening to the humming of the TARDIS.

Eventually, Dean fell asleep.

He woke up because someone carefully touched his arm.

"Dean? Dean, are you asleep?"

He blinked and nearly jumped up because the Doctor's face was only mere inches away from his own.

"Fuck! Awww, no!" He cleared his throat and looked into the wide and questioning eyes of the Doctor. "I, uhm...I rested. My eyes. Rested my eyes for a few seconds."

The Doctor smiled kindly and leaned back up. "No need to be ashamed, Dean! You haven't been able to sleep for a long time, a day I would say, no wonder that you have been tired."

Dean's eyebrows raised as he rubbed his eyes. "A day, huh..." He trailed off.

"How...How is he?" The question was the first thing that had come to his mind as had seen the Doctor.

The Doctor's smile faded slightly. "He is alright, Dean. Not good, but alright."

Dean broke the eye contact and looked to his right. The Master was gone.

The Doctor sighed deeply and sat down next to Dean. It was only now, now that the light of the TARDIS illuminated the face of the Doctor, that Dean noticed that he had two different eyes.

"Your eyes..." He began, but the Doctor waved off. "Nah. Doesn't matter right now."

Right.

What mattered now was Cas.

"So...?"

The Doctor rocked his head from side to side, a thoughtful hum escaping him. "Is there something I should know? About Castiel." He asked instead.

Dean furrowed his brow. "I don't know?"

The Doctor kept looking at him as if Dean knew exactly what the Time Lord meant.

"There is something wrong with his mind." The Doctor explained patiently. "But this is not something that has appeared just now. It has been there for weeks, and it isn't going to go away." He lowered his head, still looking at Dean, who felt slightly uncomfortable now.

The dim light casted shadows under the Doctor's eyes as he spoke again. "Care to tell me what _it_ is?"

Dean pressed his lips together and looked at his feet, his fingers locked together.

How could he explain that Lucifer was inside Castiel's head? It wasn't even the real Lucifer, more an echo if him...

"It's complicated." Dean began and looked sideways at the Doctor. The other man kept looking at him.

"There was..." He paused. "Some time ago, we kinda... We started the apocalypse." The Doctor raised one eyebrow but didn't say anything. "Long story short, Sam ended up with Lucifer inside his head, or, a part of Lucifer. An echo, you could say, an aftermath of the time he had spent together with him in the cage, being his vessel, whatever..." Dean cleared his throat and looked ahead.

It wasn't easy to talk about what had happened, it felt like a bad dream now. It still made him sick to think about Lucifer wearing Sam's body, to think about the way Sam had been after his soul had been back inside his body...

"I assume that Castiel is now the carrier of this echo?" The Doctor said and startled Dean. The Hunter nodded slowly. "Yeah."

"I see..." The Doctor nodded and stood up. "That explains a lot, but not everything."

Dean stumbled to his feet as the Doctor walked away, probably back to the room where Castiel was in. "So, you can help him." Dean said, relief washing over him.

That was good. Cas would be back to normal and everything would be at least a bit better than before.

"No." Dean stopped in his tracks.

"What...?"

The Doctor smiled kindly as he turned around to look at Dean.

" Dean, I've never seen something like this before. I may know what his problem is, but I don't know how to ...heal him." Dean's face dropped and his frustration must have been visible on his face, because the Doctor walked up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, hey! Don't make that sad face! There's nothing lost yet. We will find a way to help him, but for now we need to get back first."

Dean nodded.

Yeah,right.

They would help him, they would find a way.

Had to.

Because Dean had the feeling that the whole Lucifer thing was getting worse and worse.

"Do you want to see him?"

Dean blinked in surprise. "I am allowed to?"

The Doctor laughed out and patted his shoulder before he let go. "Of course! Why wouldn't you?"

_Maybe because, a few hours ago, everyone thought it was my fault that Cas had a spasm..._

"Yeah,right." Dean laughed dryly."Why wouldn't I?"

If the Doctor had noticed Dean's sarcasm he didn't say anything.

Cas was asleep, or at least it looked like it. He was curled up on his side as Dean entered the room, and his eyes were closed. However, he opened them as soon as Dean had closed the door behind himself.

"Dean." His voice was low and his eyes bright.

"Hi..." Dean didn't know where to put his hands and so he put them into the pockets of his pants while he walked up to the bed. Castiel didn't move, only his eyes were following Dean.

He was attentive, he was _there_. That was good, wasn't it?

"How do you feel?" The hunter asked as he looked down at the angel. There was an armchair, but Dean didn't want to sit down. He wouldn't stay here for long anyway, he just wanted to make sure that Cas was alright.

"Better." Was Castiel's honest answer. He looked away and back at Dean. He didn't say anything else and Dean assumed that he didn't want to talk about what he had seen, what Lucifer had done.

Dean knew that he probably shouldn't ask Castiel about what had happened, but he felt like he had to; things wouldn't get better if Cas held them to himself, never letting anyone in. Not that Dean had ever done that, because, frankly, he bottled-up most of his emotions, too, but this was...

He just wanted Castiel to be alright.

"What happened?"

Castiel made a grimace; he was clearly uncomfortable even if he had expected that question. "Dean.."

"No!" Dean shook his head as he looked down at Castiel, his head held high. "No, don't come with that crap again! Tell me what happened, tell me what _he_ did do! Tell me if it was _my fault_! Tell me how to _help_ you, damn it!" He let out a deep sigh of frustration. "It's getting worse, no, don't fucking look at me like that! I see it, Cas! I can fucking see it!"

Castiel opened his mouth and closed it again, his eyes sad as he moved to sit up against the headboard, his eyes never leaving Dean.

"Dean." He said, his voice kind but serious. "Dean, I know this looked like it was your fault, but it wasn't. I am truly sorry that -"

"Sorry?" Dean asked in disbelieve, his voice actually raising two notes higher. "Sorry for what?! There is nothing to be sorry for, damn it!"

He was always sorry. Always. For everything.

And calm, so fucking calm, all the time.

Castiel blinked and looked almost bashfully at his hands. "Dean-" He began again, and Dean rolled his eyes at that, angry now. "Stop 'Dean-ing' me!"

Castiel looked up from his hands, his brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed. "What am I supposed to call you instead?" His voice had a hard edge to it now and his eyes seemed cold.

He was hurt by Dean's behavior, because he couldn't understand Dean's anger.

Dean stared back at Castiel, the anger and frustration still inside him, and he honestly had no clue why he was so angry, then he sighed and sat down onto the arm of the armchair.

"Sorry..." He mumbled, running a hand through his hair. "I shouldn't have-"

He was so childish.

Now it was Castiel's turn to roll his eyes. "Maybe we should agree that, this time, it was not our fault." The angel mused, and smiled slightly. Dean noticed that he still looked slightly exhausted and the dark circles under his eyes were even darker against his pale skin.

The hunter smiled slightly. "Yeah, okay."

They didn't talk about Lucifer. Cas was too exhausted, physically and mentally, and even if he was laughing with his low voice or smiling slightly, Dean could see that he was tired. Whatever Lucifer had done this time, it must have hurt Cas more than usually.

He was nervous, not quite looking at Dean but at his hands instead, and his shoulders were slumped forward. He looked small and lost, his dark hair ruffled and his blue eyes wide.

He looked sick. Fragile.

Dean didn't like it.

It was as if every day more and more life was sucked out of him, as if every hour with Lucifer was robbing him much needed energy.

It was _barely_ visible, but it _was_ to be seen.

The pale blue veins that were visible under the white skin and were glowing with Grace, the dark circles under his glassy eyes, the tired smile, the shaking of his hands...

Small signs, but with each passing day they became stronger.

It was like seeing him falling apart, like he had seen Sammy falling apart, and he could do nothing, nothing at all.

It sucked, seeing it, again.

It hurt, not being able to help.

He wished he didn't have to see this.

He was losing him, losing Cas to Lucifer like he had lost Sam. The angel slipped right through his fingers, and Dean was not able to mend the broken shards because Cas was shattered into million pieces and it was all his fault, all Dean's fault, wasn't it?

Wasn't it?

And Cas gave him those small glances, filled with grief and worry.

 _Don't do this to yourself, Dean_ , those glances seemed to say. _Please, Dean, don't._

But how could he stop when all he ever saw was pain caused by himself?

Because he hadn't been good enough, strong enough.

_It is my fault, Dean. Everything I did, I chose to do it. Free will, Dean, do you remember?_

Yes, free will...

_Oh, Cas, you stupid son of a bitch, look what your free will made out of you, what I made out of you._

_Was it worth it?_

But Castiel would never say that he regretted choosing his own way.

 _We learn by making mistakes_ , he used to say.

Yet it still hurt making them.

They didn't talk about what had happened between them.

Dean had no clue how much of it Cas could remember, if he had been caught in the illusion from the beginning or if he could remember their frantic kissing.

Castiel himself didn't mention anything of it either, and so Dean didn't ask.

A part of Dean felt hurt, was frustrated. He had thought it did matter, to Cas, but now he wasn't so sure anymore. However, he was in no position to judge Castiel.

He was probably a bit confused anyway. He would talk to Dean when he felt like it.

_When all this is over, when we're back, when you're safe, we'll talk._

Castiel looked at Dean, his bright blue eyes reflecting the light of the TARDIS, his lips pale as he pressed them together. Dean wondered what he was thinking about.

 _I love you_ , Dean wanted to say. _Cas, I love you. Don't lose this war, okay? Hang on, for me._

Always, always for Dean.

He didn't say anything of that, though.

He just smiled.

"I can't wait to see Sam again."

Castiel smiled kindly in return as he looked back at his hands.

"I know."

His eyes grew soft.

"Me neither."

...

It was cold when he stepped outside the TARDIS. It was early in the morning, the air fresh and the sky grey. The streets were empty, only a few people with dogs were to be spotted.

Dean looked up at the window of the flat; Sam was inside that flat, waiting for them.

He was so glad to be back, to see his brother again. Especially after he had seen that future.

The hunter turned back to look at Sherlock. The detective stood at the doorway of the TARDIS and looked up at the window as well, a lost and longing expression on his face, but he made no move. He would stay inside the TARDIS, that was what he had said.

The Doctor swirled around, his eyes bright and happy. Dean was still not used to the mismatched eyes of the Time Lord. They gave him something crazy, weird. Yeah,okay, the Doctor was crazy and weird, but now it was to be _seen_ as well.

 _It is like a scar_ , Dean thought, _a constant reminder of his near-death experience._

Dean wondered how the Doctor felt about the eye. If he was angry about the reminder, or if he was glad. However,he didn't ask the Time Lord.

"I don't want to go." The Master grumbled, his arms slung around his body because it was too cold outside to wear only a sweater.

"And I won't let you alone with her." The Doctor answered sharply. He probably meant the TARDIS.

Dean really didn't look forward to have the Master around, but it wouldn't be for long anyway. They all would go separated ways soon. Dean wasn't sure if he was glad about that or not, because he kind of liked the Doctor, and Sherlock wasn't that bad either.

"You are deep in thoughts." Cas remarked while watching Dean with his intensive stare.

Dean made a grimace and waved off. "Yeah. Whatever." He turned towards the Doctor, who had a hushed argument with the Master.

"Can we go upstairs now?"

The Doctor looked up, a smile on his lips. "Of course, of course! Let's go upstairs!"

Dean didn't know what he had expected.

Maybe Sam opening the door and grinning, happy that they were back.

Maybe John, being sad and silent.

He hadn't expected to find the door of the apartment being open, half-broken out of the hinges. He saw the open door before he was at the top floor, and he took the last steps with two big strides, the Doctor and Castiel following him with hasty steps.

All relief vanished and was replaced by one single emotion; fear.

"Sam!" Dean knew better than to run into the apartment. "Sam!"

They could be someone inside it, demons, _evil sons of bitches_...

That was why he grabbed his gun, without thinking twice, before he hurried into the room.

"Dean,wait!" The Doctor called after him, but Dean didn't listen. He should have known, god damn it! He should have known that something would happen!

There was no light in the room, but Dean could see enough.

The living room was almost completely destroyed. The sofa was torn, the glass table broken, the standard lamp broken into two halves lying on the floor. The window was broken, too, letting in cold air. Its glass was scattered all over the wooden floor and the carpet.

Dean walked through the glass shards, which crunched under his heavy boots.

He could hear his own heartbeat inside his ears.

_No, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy!_

There was a groan and the sound of a body moving underneath a pile of wood, which seemed to have been a shelf once.

"Sam!" Dean's heart skipped a beat as he rushed to his brother's side, helping him to get rid of the wood on top of him. Castiel soon came to help him, and together they managed to get Sam out underneath the wood and back up on his feet.

Sam swayed slightly and looked a bit pale, but he seemed unharmed, besides a few nasty cuts and bruises. One touch of Castiel's hand, however, was enough to make them disappear.

"What happened? What the hell happened?" Dean asked as he helped his brother to sit down onto the torn sofa.

Sam just shook his head, his face hidden behind his hands. "I am so stupid, Dean..." He whispered. "It's my fault, I messed it up! Damn it!"

Dean's eyebrows furrowed in worry. "Hey, what's wrong? What is your fault?"

"Dean..." It was Castiel who spoke while his bright eyes were scanning the room. His face was grim and his body tense. "Demons. They have been here."

Dean opened his mouth but it was the Doctor who spoke first. "John is gone." He informed the others as he walked with big steps, careful to avoid the glass on the floor. The Master leaned against the wall, his hands hidden in the pockets of his hoodie while he watched the others with narrowed eyes.

"I know..." Sam answered, and his voice was heavy."He is gone and that's my fault."

The Doctor sighed. "Sam-" He began, and Dean knew that Time Lord was attempting to comfort his brother. "- don't blame yourself."

Sam laughed bitterly as he removed the hands from his face. His eyes were cold.

"It was my fault! I opened the damn door! I opened it without asking who was there! I..." He paused and rubbed his hand over his face. "I thought it was you...I didn't think twice, I know I should have -" He gave Dean a quick and apologetic glance. "- but I was so relieved and I opened the door and it wasn't you who stood there, it was Meg."

"Meg?!" Dean asked.

_Oh damn._

_No._

"But, what did she want? Why was she here? Why now?"

Sam swallowed hard and leaned back against the backrest.

"She wasn't alone. There was this man...Sebastian was his name. Tall, blone...I tried to close the door but he broke it."

"Of course I told John to hide, but he refused. We tried to fight them, but we had no guns...She knocked me out, threw me against the bookshelf. Can't tell you what happened, if John is alright..."

He closed his eyes and cursed.

"I remember him screaming...Then everything went black."

The following silence was uncomfortable.

Sam looked down at his hands, his lips a grim line. Half of his face was covered by his hair.

The glass crunched as the Doctor walked up to Sam and sat down next to him. He looked worried, his mismatched eyes wandering around as if to take in the destroyed flat. Dean could imagine that he blamed himself.

He was to blame.

They all were to blame.

"What about Sherlock." The Master suddenly said, casually, as if nothing had happened at all. His eyes were dark and half of his face was hidden in the shadow of the wall. "How are we going to tell him that his flat is destroyed and his buddy missing?"

_Oh crap._

Dean rubbed his neck with one hand, his eyes trailing over the glass on the floor.

"We don't."

Dean looked up, surprised. "What?!"

"We don't." The Doctor replied, his voice calm but firm. "We can't, no, we can't tell him!" The Time Lord jumped up from the sofa, waving his hands about in the air.

"We find him, John, we find him! " He turned towards Dean and Castiel. "You know how to track demons, don't you?"

Castiel nodded slowly.

"Good! That's good!"

Dean reflexed a bit. They would find John.

They would summon Meg and beat the crap out of her if they had to, but they would find John.

But, they wouldn't.

Dean didn't know it, but things weren't getting any better.

They would get worse


	24. The narrow road - part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are not safe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A happy new year!

* * *

His hands were shaking as he held his phone to his ear, counting every second that passed.

 _Biep...  Biep... Biep_...

He swallowed hard, his heart racing in his chest.

_C'mon!  C'mon!_

_Biep...Biep...Biep..._

Trying not to panic he began to walk up and down the room, his eyes roaming over the chaos.

_Please!_

Finally, after several minutes of painfully waiting for an answer, a harsh voice spoke to him from the other end.

_"Who's there?"_

"Me." He said, his voice rough. "It's me. I need help."

There was silence at the other end, and he almost feared that he was left hanging.

 _"Yeah..."_ The voice paused, almost as if the man at the other end was considering something.

 _"Alright."_ He finally said with a deep and annoyed sight. _" Wait a sec."_

Balling his free hand into a fist he waited, his food tapping onto the foor.

 _"Yes, helloooo?"_ A cheerful voice greeted him. _"Here's the Doctor, how can I help?"_

He took a deep breath before he answered. "Hello, Doctor. It's me, Sam Winchester..."

A laugh. _"Sam! Sammy! How good to hear from you again! How long has it been? For you, I mean? A few month, a year or two? How are you and Dean? Alright I hope?"_

Sam smiled weakly as he looked down at the floor. "That is the problem I have, Doc..." He mumbled, his eyes trailing over the dark goo on the floor.

"I am lost. They are gone."

A pause.

_"Gone? Gone, how?"_

A Pause.

_"Gone where?"_

"I don't know..." Sam's voice broke. "I am alone, and they are gone..."

There was another pause. Someone was talking in the background.

 _"Don't worry, Sam."_ The Doctor spoke, his voice strong and confident. _"We'll find them."_

**Chapter 23**

It hadn't worked.

Summoning Meg.

It hadn't worked.

He wasn't sure why.

It should have worked.

Maybe she had been trapped, summoned by someone else?

Maybe she was dead?

Maybe they should have known?

It hadn't worked, and they had been left without a clue.

 _"We have to go back home."_ Dean had said, eventually, after a few hours of silently sitting inside the TARDIS. _"Because of Dick."_ He then had added.

They hadn't been able to help the Doctor and the Master with their search for John, _wouldn't_ be able...

Castiel had offered the Doctor to help them, but the Time Lord had refused.

 _"Oh, Castiel."_ He had smiled, his eyes darting towards Sherlock, who  had been sitting on the stairs; the detective hadn't known, _probably still didn't know_ , that his friend was lost. _"It's alright. Don't you worry, we'll find him. Time machine,remember?"_ He had grinned, though his eyes  were troubled. _"I always find a way. I always do."_

He wasn't sure if the Doctor _had_ found John yet.

He wasn't sure about _anything_ anymore.

Time had passed, and the Time Lord hadn't called.

Not once.

They hadn't called him, either.

Work, defeating demons and Dick, had kept them busy, and slowly but surely they had started to forget, their adventures with Sherlock and the Doctor being pushed back because they had been too busy saving the world, once again.

Defeating Dick hadn't been easy.

However, that had been no surprise at all, not for him.

He had expected trouble.

He had expected sacrifices.

Just not like ...this.

He stared down at the clear water, his own reflection staring back at him. His eyes seemed tired and the reflection in the water was a mere mirror of his vessel, not his true self.

This shouldn't have happened.

Yet it was somehow right.

Dean wasn't here, not at his _side_ at least. Dean was somewhere alone, where it was a bit safer.

Safer, because Castiel wasn't at his side.

Lucifer laughed as he eyed Castiel, his arms clasped behind his back.

Castiel ignored him.

A part of him was glad, that he was here, in Purgatory.

Another part of him was really sad, and he couldn't tell why.

Why was he sad? Wasn't this the place where he belonged? Where he could do no harm to anyone?

Wasn't that right?

But then there was Dean, who _shouldn't be _ here at all.

Who _was_ here now, and Castiel couldn't help but blame himself.

_Oh, Dean..._

_I am so sorry._

He had tried to protect him, but they had ended up here, together.

That was not right.

Dean shouldn't be here.

Dean was supposed to be with Sam; safe, and on earth.

The water rippled, a few small waves reached the shore. Castiel reached out with a hand and touched the surface. The water was cold, pure.

_I have been pure, once._

_Like the water._

_What am I now?_

_One of those muddy stones?_

_A withered flower?_

Lucifer laughed.

"A poet. " He said with a sneer; there was mockery in his voice. "Father would be so proud of you."

 _Father,_ Castiel thought, _Father doesn't care anymore. Not about me._

Lucifer's face darkened, and so did his smile.

_And maybe that is what I deserve._

Lucifer's grin widened, but his eyes stayed cold. "I guess we both now what you really are, and what you deserve."

The angel stood up, brushing his clothes down as he turned to move away from the river. He had to keep going, otherwise the leviathans would find him. They were near, he could feel their presence like a dark cloud over the dull light that shone through the tree tops, like a pressure at the back of his mind that was gnawing at his Grace...

But then he heard it, a faint voice.

_"Castiel."_

His body stiffened as he heard the familiar voice. It sounded far away and faint, but it was there.

That couldn't be.

It couldn't.

Lucifer's eyes narrowed before he vanished out of Castiel's sight, leaving him alone - for now. The angel turned around to the lake.

"Balthazar?!"

It was, indeed, Balthazar, who was standing on the water, his arms crossed in front of his chest while he looked at Castiel with an expression on his face that Castiel couldn't place. He looked oddly transparent and Castiel could see the trees in the distance by looking right through him.

There was a glow around him, a faint shimmer of Grace, but it was his vessel's form that he had chosen to form with the last bit of Grace that was him, not his true form. Maybe that was because there wasn't much left of his true form, nothing more than a few scraps of Grace, barely enough to form the outline of his vessel.

"It is you..." He breathed. "But how..." He walked a few steps closer, and so did Balthazar. The water did not move underneath his steps, however, it did as Castiel stepped into the river. He didn't shiver as the water reached his legs.

"Balthazar-" He breathed, the heart of his vessel beating wildly inside his chest. " I am so sorr-"

He couldn't end the sentence because the next thing he felt was a stinging pain as Balthazar slapped him, hard.

_"You're so incredible stupid that even I can't believe it!"_

Castiel held his hand to his reddening cheek, his eyes wide as his heart dropped.

Of course.

Balthazar wouldn't forgive him, he should have know, how could he-

However, he was surprised , and a little bit shocked, to find himself in an embrace. The blond angel was hugging him so tight that Castiel feared he would crush his vessel.

"Balthazar, what-"

 _"You bloody killed me! Killed me! And all the time here, all the time I thought about what I would say to you if I would ever see you again. I was so angry, Cassie, so angry-" _He leaned away to look at Castiel, his hands on Castiel's shoulders. Castiel noticed that his eyes had no pupils, which seemed to make them lifeless and cold.

"I am so sorry!" Castiel began, again, before Balthazar could say anything else. "You have all reasons to hate me, to be angry at me! I killed you, my best friend, and I will never be able to forgive myself for what I have do-"

Balthazar shook him not too gently.

 _"NO!"_ He said, shaking his head after he had stopped shaking Castiel. _"No, no! I am not angry at you, how could I ever be angry at you, Cassie?"_ And he smiled, but it was a sad smile, full of grief. _"I am angry at myself."_

Castiel's mouth opened but no words came out.

 _"I wasn't able to save you. Instead it was Crowley who was there for you, not me. It should have been me. I am sorry, truly sorry, for not being there as you needed me. I should have known, should have seen, but I didn't. "_ He took a deep breath and smiled again, though now it was a warm smile. _"That's why I am here, dear. I refused to go - No, I couldn't go! I waited, here, for my chance to see you again. Because I knew you would open the gates to Purgatory,I knew I would see you again some day, and I couldn't leave without telling you that I am sorry, right? But now you know."_

Castiel stared at his brother, his best friend, his eyes wide.

"No..." He whispered, slowly. "No, I have to apologize...I..." He paused, trying to find the right words, but there was nothing he could ever say to make things right. "I did so much wrong!"

His throat felt tight and he swallowed hard.

Balthazar's smile grew softer. _"You didn't know any better."_

Oh, but he did!

He did!

All the choices he had made, all the mistakes, all the evil things he had done, all the pain he had caused, he had done it because he thought it was right, he had done it because he _could_ , because he had _wanted to_.

They had to stop making excuses for him.

_"Why are you crying, Castiel?"_

Castiel looked up to meet Balthazar's gaze. The blond angel's brow was furrowed as he looked at Castiel.

He hadn't noticed that he was crying.

"Because you are weak, weak, weak." Lucifer snickered. He stood next to Castiel now, a grin on his lips. "Aw, it's so cute, Balthazar always liked you the best, didn't he?"

Castiel flinched slightly and Balthazar's eyes narrowed. _"What is wrong?"_

_Everything._

Castiel looked away, ashamed, maybe.

"Lucifer." He whispered.

There was no need to lie now; he owed Balthazar lots of things and the truth was but a small thing to give him now.

Balthazar nodded slowly. _"I see..."_

Castiel turned back.

Balthazar really saw him now. Right there, where he was, his pale eyes directed at Lucifer, who glared back.

 _"Castiel, listen to me."_ Balthazar had turned his eyes away from Lucifer and was now looking at Castiel with a stern face. _"You're not alone here, right?"_

Castiel hesitated but nodded. "Dean..."

 _"I figured out that much."_ Balthazar smiled again _. "It's always him."_

There was a weird tone in his voice, a hidden emotion. Sadness, maybe. Or was it ... jealousy?

Lucifer huffed while he began to kick stones into the water; he was clearly annoyed that Castiel was ignoring him. "Boring! So boring! Just get on with it!"

_"Castiel, now listen."_

Castiel nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on Balthazar's face.

_"You can get out of here. There is a way."_

Castiel's body tensed and his eyes darted to Lucifer, who had stopped kicking stones into the water. He was alert now, his eyes gleaming dangerously while the shadows under his eyes seemed to have increased.

_"You and Dean, alright, Castiel?"_

Castiel tore his eyes away from Lucifer to look back at his fading brother. "I can't-"

 _"Yes, yes you can!"_ Balthazar's voice was strong, his fingers tightening around Castiel's shoulders. _"You will. For me, Cassie, alright? Get out, start anew... I know you can do it."_

Castiel began to shake his head, his eyes wide. "No! I belong here, I-"

Balthazar ignored him. _"Gabby is here, too, you know? That part, that Lucifer killed, it is here. You have to find it, because, if you do,_ his real self _will find you, too. There is a connection..."_

_"He can get you out, I know that, because he's a smart fellow, has always been smart, right? So now stop crying all over me and save your sorry ass."_

He let go of Castiel, who staggered back a few steps, his eyes not leaving his friend, even as Lucifer began shouting random things at him in order to distract him.

"No!" He nearly yelled as Balthazar began to fade. "No! I can't leave you here!"

There panic now; he couldn't leave Balthazar, not again!

Balthazar smiled, and it wasn't a sad but a tired smile. _"Oh,dear, don't you worry. I am already lost. This is all of me what's left."_

No!

He wouldn't let him go, he wouldn't fail him, not this time!

This time he would save him!

"Then come with me!" He reached for Balthazar. "I have enough Grace for the both of us, and this body is mine now. It should be able to handle us both until we are out of Purgatory!"

Balthazar didn't stop fading. By now he was a mere shimmer in the air.

"Balthazar, please!" Castiel begged, yes, he begged, because he couldn't lose Balthazar, not again. He had to get him out of here, at least, even if Balthazar wasn't strong enough to exist on his own because there wasn't much of his being left, at least he shouldn't die here.

"Come with me, Balthazar. This is the last time I will ask a favour of you. Please let me save you this _one last time_."

...

Sam stared at the mug in his hands. He was pale and his lips tightly shut. There was blood, but was it his own? He didn't seem hurt, not physically, but he seemed tired and lost.

_Oh, Sammy, poor Sammy!_

They had arrived withing mere minutes after the call. Sherlock had made some tea while the Master had eyed the hunter with narrowed eyes. He was sceptical, still. Oh, and he didn't like the Winchesters much.

Sam tired to explain what had happened. And it seemed that a lot had happened.

However, he had no clue why Dean and Castiel had disappeared.

Neither did the Doctor know why.

"They just...They just disappeared." Sam would say, staring into his mug. "Just like that."

"Did you try to phone him?" Sherlock had asked, his cat-like eyes watching Sam with interest but also hidden worry.

Sam had nodded, his hair falling into his eyes. It seemed longer than the last time the Doctor had seen him."Yeah, sure I did! But there was nothing, too... " He had paused. "Nothing. Not even a sound, no statics..."

The Doctor hummed thoughtfully. "Almost as if they really...vanished."

That didn't make the situation any better because there were many places without telephone network.

Other planets, for example.

But Sam refused to believe that his brother and his friend had been send to another planet.

"That's not like them, leviathans and demons can't do that..."

That left three other places, then.

"Heaven, Hell and...Purgatory..." Sam had said with a grim face. Neither of them was a good place to be, he had assured.

So, no matter what way they looked at it, this was bad.

Really bad.

"We can look everywhere for them, can we?"

No, no they couldn't.

The Doctor wasn't even sure if the TARDIS was able to switch between different planes, for all he knew Earth, Heaven, Hell and Purgatory were just the same place within _different planes_.

It was really confusing and all that, you probably wouldn't understand most of it.

Planes were like different layers, like different layers of paper, for example. One paper was one plane, and one plane belonged to an Universe. So, each plane belonged to a different Universes. However, there were planes that didn't belong to any Universe, you could say they were a Universe _for themselves_.

They had learned about that, back then...

But, back to the topic; the TARDIS would be exhausted after travelling between the planes, and they couldn't risk trying to search every plane.

Time had a different meaning there, too.

All in all they had but one try to find those two.

The Doctor shook his head and cleared his throat, his hands on his bow-tie. "Well,...I think we require someone who knows about all the planes, right? Someone who could help."

Sam laughed bitterly, his fingers tightening around the mug. "There is no one like this. And even if, I am sure no one would be willing to help us..."

The Doctor sighed. "Don't say that, Sam. I believe there are many people-"

"People!" Sam laughed again while shaking his head. "We would need a demon or an angel to tell us where they are. And, believe me, there is NO demon who would help us and neither there is there an angel who would help us."

They were silent. The TARDIS hummed softly.

Sam started ahead, his jaw clenched and his brow furrowed. He looked uncomfortable and sad, and the Doctor felt sorry for him, he really did!

"Sam..." He began and sat down next to the hunter, who didn't even bother to look at him. He reached for Sam's hand, but the hunter drew away, still not looking at the Time Lord.

"We will find a way to save your brother." Sherlock said. He was leaning against the console, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

He seemed calm but the Doctor knew that the detective was nervous; People suddenly disappearing without a cause? That was new, _and_ exciting...

However, this were people he _knew_ , _friends_. So it was more than important to bring them back.

"There has to be someone who is willing to help us, there is always someone who know something."

Sam just snorted and looked into his mug. The tea was cold now.

"I don't really get it." Their heads turned towards the Master. "What?!" The blond Time Lord snapped. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

The Doctor sighed deeply and stood up to point with his index-finger at the Master. "Say it, say what you think right now or don't. Just stop making witty comments, that's not helping, okay, not at all! At least _I_ am trying to be clever here!"

The Master raised one dark eyebrow, a grin spreading across his lips. "Clever? Aw, honey, you aren't clever, not at all."

The Doctor felt himself blushing, with anger, so he told himself. "Spit it out, then!" He snapped. "Spit it out, your great plan!"

Of course he was unfair now, of course he shouldn't be angry at the Master, he wasn't angry, by the way, he just couldn't hold back any longer; they needed to help Dean and Castiel, and they needed to do it soon!

The Master rolled his eyes as he walked up and down the platform. He seemed to be very comfortable with being the center of everyone's attention.

"I have no plan!" He huffed and clasped his arms behind his back. "But-" He added, as he saw the Doctor's grim face. "I have an idea! Ideas are good, right? You totally loooovveee ideaaas." The Doctor's eyes narrowed. Now he was playing around again, imitating the Doctor's voice.

"So, what idea is it, then?" The Doctor asked, calmly.

_Just try to stay calm, stay calm!_

The Master loved being the one in control.

The Doctor wanted something? Then he had to _beg_ for it.

The Master shrugged his shoulders. "It's easy."

The Doctor waited, not all too patiently, though. The Master's grin widened.

"Damn it, Master!" He snarled, and his voice held a warning edge now. The blond man snickered but stopped as he saw Sam Winchester's cold stare.

"Alright. Okay." He raised his hands in defeat. "That one angel bloke? Here, what was his name..." He trailed off, flicking his fingers while trying to remember the name.

"Gabriel." Sherlock said. It was no question, it was a statement.

The Master nodded hastily. "Exactly! I mean, he was totally on your side! I bet he would help us, wouldn't he?"

The Doctor grinned, full of new hope.

_Of course! Gabriel!_

"Of course! Stupid me" His own right hand hit his forehead on its own accord. Sometimes his right hand did that, things, mostly disagreeing with him, almost as if it had its own life. It had been the hand that his tenth-self had grown anew, and sometimes he wondered if there was still a bit of his personality in it. Although that was ridiculous, right?

The Master sighed and leaned back against the console. He smiled slighty, and this time he seemed amused by the Doctor's behavior, not in a spiteful way though.

The Doctor turned towards Sam and his grin froze; Sam looked everything else than happy, in fact he seemed rather disappointed.

"Gabriel-" He said, his voice rough. "Is dead. He died. How is he supposed to help us?!"

The Doctor was taken aback for a few seconds.

Then he remembered.

Of course! This Sam, this Sam didn't know! He still thought that Gabriel had died a few years ago!

The Doctor laughed out, his eyes gleaming with joy. "Oh, oh but Sam! He isn't!"

Sam's brow furrowed; he stood up after placing the mug on the stairs. "That is not possible." He disagreed, his voice low. However, he paused, his brow furrowing even more. He seemed to remember something. Maybe it was possible after all?

"But, how...?"

"Ahhh, well, it is complicated!" The Doctor said while spinning around the console, beaming all over his face. The Master was still leaning against the console, but the Doctor ignored him and twirled around said console, reaching around the Master to get to the buttons and switches. "Sherlock will explain it to you, but for now there is just one thing I can tell you: Nothing ever is as it seems!"

With that he switched the last switch and the TARDIS hummed loudly as the engines came to life.

"Where are we going?!" Sherlock wanted to know, his hands gripping the railing with the desperate attempt to avoid being thrown through the ship, something that had happened quite a few times, to be honest.

He also looked rather pale; he never liked being thrown around the TARDIS, and he still wasn't used to the Doctor's way of flying the ship, which was no way in particular, by the way. However, the Master liked to describe it as ' _the way to make someone puke really fast and really often'_. That wasn't a nice name, but it was probably a fitting one. However, the Doctor never had any troubles...

"I don't now yet!" The Doctor admitted, still grinning. "But we can't greet him out there, can't we? Everything full of black goo! Not nice at all!"

...

He staggered through the forest, his the fingers of his right hand clenched around the self-made weapon. The light that shone through the tree tops was dim and greyish. He had no clue how many hours had passed, how many days. Time never seemed to change here.

It was cold, and he could see his breath in front of his face.

He wasn't hungry, hadn't been hungry since they had arrived here. Neither was he tired.

The only thing he felt was this emptiness, and worry.

Where was Cas?

The angel had disappeared, suddenly, and he hadn't seen him since.

"Cas!" The hunter screamed. He was aware that the monsters could hear him, but fuck them, he could handle them!

"Cas!" His scream echoed into the silence of the forest. No other sound was to be heard, not even birds or other animals. Just the wind and Dean's own voice.

"Cas! You fucking son of a bitch!"

He knew it was no use.

He had been screaming for hours, and his throat was raw.

Still there was no answer.

What if one of those monsters had killed him? Had hurt him?

What if Dean was too late?

_No!_

No, that was impossible!

Yes, Cas was a stupid nerdy angel, but he was an angel after all! He was stronger than those monsters here, he would be able to defend himself!

But why had he disappeared?

"Cas!"

Branches snapped.

Footsteps.

Dean stopped and he listened while holding his breath.

Someone was coming.

No,not someone; something.

Dean swirled around, both hands around the handle of his weapon.

The forest was wide and the trees stood far from each other, at least so far that Dean could easily see the figure approaching him; short hair, dark suit, female...

Dean's eyes narrowed as he whispered, "Leviathan."

Running was pointless, fighting was exhausting.

However, those were the only options he had. And so Dean pressed his feet into the dirty ground as he waited, his whole body tense with anticipation.

"C'mere you bitch!" Dean snarled, loud enough for the monster to hear him.

The monster was near now, its face a mask without emotion.

Dean prepared himself, tightened his grip around the weapon, tilted the blade ready to ram the weapon into the body made of black goo...

It never came to happen.

The monster was a few feet away from Dean as he was suddenly pushed backwards.

He stumbled and fell onto the ground, nearly losing his blade.

"Stay back!" A familiar voice huffed. "And close your eyes!"

Then there was white light.

Dean pressed his eyes together, using his arm to shield his face. His heart was hammering inside his chest and he was sure it was trying to escape.

_Cas!_

This was Cas!

He was alive!

Dean was so relieved that he was sure he was about to cry - but of course he wouldn't cry! It just felt as if a weight had been taken from his heart, and suddenly everything seemed possible again.

He opened his eyes as soon as the light ebbed away.

"Cas!" The hunter jumped up from the ground, ready to close his arms around Castiel's body, but then Castiel turned around, and he wasn't Castiel at all.

Sure, it was the same body, everything was the same, the stubborn hair, the trench coat, the wrong tied tie ...

But the eyes...

Those eyes weren't blue, no, they were golden, and his expression was not like Castiel's at all, not this kinda awkward face which seemed grim,stern, but never angry; there was something wrong about it, about his whole body posture, something that seemed off, not Castiel like...

"You..." Dean whispered, his weapon raised again as he took several steps backwards, something that caused him to nearly stumble over a root, but his eyes never left the face of the stranger. "You are not Cas!"

Not-Cas sighed deeply as he followed Dean, and it seemed that he was not afraid of the weapon that was pointed at his heart.

"Calm the fuck down, will you!"

Dean winced slightly as he heard the familiar voice.

"You are right." Not-Cas admitted, though he didn't stop following Dean. His hands were raised in front of his chest now, almost as if to show Dean that he meant no harm. "I am not Cas."

"Okay, great!" Dean snapped. "Good to know! So care to tell me who you are?!"

If this wasn't Cas...

Who was it then?

And where was Cas...?

Not-Cas sighed again and closed his eyes. "Dean, we don't have time for this, okay? Trust me, this is a bit complicated and we should really keep going now because there are more Leviathans on the way!"

He didn't wait for Dean's answer, instead he surged forward and grabbed Dean by his arm.

"Hey!"

They hurried through the never-ending forest, their harsh breathing and hasty steps the only noises to be heard. It was when they stopped at a small river that Dean managed to get a few feet between himself and the stranger.

"What was that?!" He asked, panting heavily; he was angry, more than angry.

"I saved your stupid ass! That's it!" The other man snapped back. They stared at each other as if they were about to murder another.

"Who are you!? What did you do to Cas!?" Dean demanded to know, his angry green eyes never leaving the other man. Not-Castiel rolled his eyes as he crouched down, his hands playing with the water of the river.

"I did do nothing to Cas!" The stranger huffed, his eyes looking into the depths of the river. "In fact, I am here to save him. Both of you, actually."

Dean snorted before he pointed the tip of his weapon at Not-Cas' head.

"Oh, thanks, how generous of you!"

The stranger's eyes darted to the side to look at Dean, then at the weapon, and something dangerous lit up behind the gold.

"You should watch your words, Winchester! I only help you because that's what Cassie wants, not because I love you." He made a grimace and looked back at the water. "I don't even like you!" There was a frown upon his face and he seemed uneasy.

Someone who wanted to save them, save Cas...That meant it had to be an angel, right? A dead angel, since this was Purgatory, right? Dean frowned. But he hadn't seen any angels here, just monsters...

"You're an angel." He said, slowly, and withdrew his weapon.

The man looked up again. "Wow, hello there, Sherlock, what a good guess!" There was unmistakable sarcasm in his voice now.

There were several angels that hated him - for good reasons. However, there were only few that Cas considered his friends or closer brothers.

"Balthazar." He was dead, he had been Cas' best friend, and he had been a sassy bastard. He was the first who came into Dean's mind.

"Good guess." The angel smiled cooly. "But guess again."

Dean was startled.

If not Balthazar, who was it then?

"It is true, Balthazar is here,too." The man furrowed his brow. "Ah, by the way, he wants to tell you that you are a dick."

"Thanks..." Was all Dean managed to say. He was too busy figuring out who the angel was. He even forgot to ponder over the fact that Balthazar was inside that body,too.

"Anyway..." He began. "Why is it ...you? Where is Cas?"

The angel stood up and dried his hands by rubbing them against the fabric of his pants. "Still in here." He tapped his index-finger against his temple. "However, he is...Not really awake."

Dean's body tensed up. Not awake? Was he unconscious again? Was it because of Lucifer?

Hallucinations and breakdowns had become more frequent over the past few month and Cas had needed more and more time to wake up from his unconsciousness.

He didn't even ask if Cas was okay because he knew the answer already.

"How bad?"

The angel rubbed his hand over his forehead. "Not good."

Dean hummed grimly. That was what he had expected.

"We need to move along the river." The angel said, slowly. "They'll be waiting there." His gaze seemed to focus again and he nodded towards Dean, his face stern. "Balthazar is helping Cas to fight Lucifer off, but he is little use. They need my help, but I can't help them as long as we are _here_."

Of course, because that would mean that every soul in the body, _Cas' body_ , was busy fighting and therefore no one would be able to control the body. And, really, Dean had other things to do than to carry Cas' limp body around Purgatory.

They walked silently along the riverbed and the stones crunched under their shoes while the water of the river was a silent background mumbling. The wind rustled in the trees and a few loose leaves swirled through the air.

You could say it was _peaceful_ , if there weren't all those monsters out there...

Dean took a deep breath and eyed the angel warily; who was he?

"Who's waiting for us, anyway?" He wanted to know.

The angel tilted his head but didn't stop walking. The light seemed to surround him, and he was a colorful and bright spot in the dull and greyish Purgatory.

"Your brother."

Dean stopped."What!?"

Was he kidding? There was no way that Sam would, _could_ , be here!

And, to be honest, Dean didn't _want_ him  to be here.

"How?!"

The angel continued walking down the river even after he had noticed that Dean had stopped in his tracks.

"The Doctor." His voice was calm and he didn't turn around to look at Dean.

"Doctor?"

_Doctor...Doctor Who?_

_Of course!_ Dean nearly hit himself with a flat hand against his forehead. _The Doctor! The Time Lord! The one with the time machine!_

However, that kept one question open.

"How do you come to know him?" He asked as he hurried to catch up with the angel. The Doctor hadn't been travelling with an angel, as far as Dean knew. However, that could have changed...

Said angel smiled mysteriously. "Oh, _I_ don't know him. "

Dean opened his mouth but the angel spoke again. "However, a part of me, does."

That only confused Dean more. A part of him? How was that possible? It was not as if angels had several personalities, right?

The angel's smile widened but he remained silent.

It took him several more minutes, maybe hours, and thinking about the past until he finally got the answer. Afterwards he felt very stupid because the answer seemed so obvious that it hurt.

"You are the one third!" He exclaimed. "The one third that Gabriel had to sacrifice in order to fool Lucifer! That's you!"

The angel grinned though his eyes seemed sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The thing with the Doctor's right hand? Someone on Tumblr pointed it out! And if you really think about it..


	25. The narrow road - part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is there a way to save him, or is it already too late?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh school is killing me *sigh*

**Chapter 24**

They were running towards the TARDIS. Sometimes Dean looked back over his shoulder to take a look at the four leviathans which were following them.

They were fast and it was just a matter of time until they would catch up to Dean and Gabriel.

Dean's feet slip on the wet stones and several times he nearly fell, but the angel always managed to pull him up and catch him before he hit the ground.

"Hurry up!" The Doctor screamed, his voice echoing through the silence of the wood. "Hurry!"

Sam was there, too. Dean could see his head behind the Doctor, somewhere over the Time Lord's right shoulder. "Dean!"

The TARDIS made a low hissing sound; she wasn't used to Purgatory. That wasn't her kind of plane, her kind of territory. The devices were going crazy and she wasn't able to stabilize herself in the plane, causing her to fade and materialize in an unsteady rhythm.

"Run!" The Doctor shouted. As if that would help.

They reached the TARDIS before it was almost too late; Dean jumped inside but Gabriel was grabbed by one of the leviathans just before he was able to set one foot inside the blue box.

"No!" Dean swirled around, nearly knocking Sam over by doing so, but the Master was faster; he took several steps forward, his right hand grabbing the frame of the dematerializing TARDIS, the other closing around the angel's wrist and pulling him inside.

However, the leviathan didn't let go, and so it was pulled inside the ship as well, the doors closing behind it.

"Fuck!" Dean cursed, his eyes searching for a possible weapon, but no weapon was needed because Gabriel, the real Gabriel, stepped forward and grabed the leviathan by its head. "Hasta la vista, baby!"

The leviathan exploded and black goo flew through the air.

The Master made a disgusted sound, something between hissing and growling, as most of the black goo covered him. "You bloody twat!"

Dean wasn't sure who he was addressing, but Gabriel gave the blond Time Lord a bitchy smile. "You can thank me later, peasant."

It was the ultimate sass-off and Dean wasn't sure if he was able to handle that after everything that had happened.

"Dean!" Dean turned around and the strong arms of his brother embraced him, hugging him tight before letting go abruptly. "I am ...I..." Sam cleared his throat. Dean just nodded; he knew what Sam wanted to say, anyway. "Yeah, I know."

Their happy reunion was short lived, though.

"Well, this is weird." Two voice said in unison. Dean turned around again to see Gabriel and his one third part staring at each other.

"Oh no, two of them?!" The Master sighed dramatically while hiding his face behind his hand. "Great!"

"This is not good, I assume?" Sherlock asked, even if he knew the answer already. Dean guessed that he wanted to socialize a bit since he was not as much of an asshole as he had been once. Actually, he was really friendly, even though a bit weird in his own way.

Both Gabriels shook their heads. "It's very confusing." They admitted.

The Master rolled his eyes behind his hand. "Can you stop saying everything together?"

Both angels glared at him. "Sorry, hobo, but we are the same person."

The Master looked up from behind his hand, his face an angry grimace, and he was about to hiss something in return when the Doctor stepped in between them, a big but faked smile in his lips. "Okay, okay! Calm down now, both of you, will you?" He didn't wait for their answer. "Great! Good!" He turned towards Gabriel, frowned, and turned towards Cas, then back again, seemingly confused. He wasn't sure whom to address. "We should do something about the...thing-" He pointed at his own temple. "-inside there, right?"

Castiel's eyes darkened visibly as both Gabriels answered. "Yes. We need to hurry. Balthazar is barely able to help Castiel, and I won't be much help either..." His eyes trailed over their faces until they stopped. He looked at Dean.

"What?!" Dean snapped, nervously.

"You know that he needs you." Both Gabriels said, though one of them had Castiel's voice, and it was weird to hear him talk knowing that it wasn't him.

"Me?" Dean asked, slowly. "Man, I am not much help, I don't have mojo or something..."

Both Gabriels smiled, but Dean was only looking at one of them. It almost broke his heart a little bit, seeing him smiling like that.

"You don't need any mojo, Deano. Your presence will be enough."

Dean wanted to argue but the Doctor clapped his hands and nodded hastily. "Good, good! We'll use the medical bay, better safe than sorry, right? Right." Again, he didn't wait for their answer and jumped along, his long legs carrying him through the ship. The others followed him, and an uncomfortable silence lay over them.

Dean was aware that Sam didn't like the idea of Dean being inside Cas' head, mostly because Lucifer was there, too. Dean had no idea what would wait for him.

The medical bay was bigger than Dean had expected, but then again, the whole ship was a fucking palace, or at least it had the same space.

The room had white tiles and white walls, and everything was a bit too white and bright. The neon lights above them were too bright to look at, and Dean decided that he didn't like the room at all.

The TARDIS seemed to have noticed his discomfort, because mere minutes later the room seemed a bit warmer and friendlier to Dean.

The Doctor led Castiel, or the one third of Gabriel, to one of the beds, telling him to lie down. "Will you be able to get Dean inside his head?" The Doctor wanted to know.

Gabriel, the real one, nodded. "I am an archangel!" Both Gabriels said, with pride in their voices. "Doing something like that is as easy as breathing for me." The Master snorted, but luckily Gabriel didn't hear him, or maybe he had chosen to ignore the Master.

"Sit down, Dean." The Doctor said as he pointed at the plastic folding chair next to the bed. Dean did as he was told and sat down on the chair. The thing was more comfortable than it looked at the first sight.

"You should leave the room." The Doctor had turned towards the rest.

Sam frowned and the Master rolled his eyes. "Why?"

The Doctor narrowed his eyes and Dean was sure they had a telepathic conversation because they were staring at each other for at least five minutes until the Master turned red and waved off. "Okay, I don't care about that idiot anyway." He was out of the room before anyone was able to say anything.

"Have an eye on him, please. "The Doctor nodded towards Sherlock, his voice calm. The detective smiled slightly before he was out of the room as well. It seemed that it wasn't the first time that the Doctor had asked him to watch over the Master.

 _How much times has passed, for them?_ Dean wondered.

"You can stay here, if you want..." The Doctor began, but Sam shook his head. "Nah...It's okay, I'll wait outside." The Doctor nodded slowly and Sam looked at Dean, giving him a short nod before he left the room as well.

_Good luck._

Gabriel eyed the Doctor with sceptical eyes as the Time Lord sat down on the opposite of the bed so that he was looking at Dean and Gabriel.

"What are you still doing here?" The Gabriels asked, wary. He didn't know the Doctor, not so much as the others at least, and that was probably why he was a bit more careful around him than with the others. However, Gabriel was never careful around others, not even around Lucifer himself, so maybe there was another reason for his behavior.

The Doctor, though, didn't seem to notice Gabriel's wariness. "I am here to help, of course!" He smiled brightly and Dean admired his ability to smile even if he clearly didn't feel like it. Of course Dean couldn't actually see that the Doctor didn't feel like smiling, but he didn't need to; it was clear in the way his shoulders were hunched slightly, and he wouldn't look into neither Dean's nor Gabriel's eyes.

There sometimes was something lost and child-like about the Time Lord that Dean just couldn't place.

"You shouldn't - " Gabriel began, but the Doctor waved him off while rolling his eyes in annoyance. "Oh please! My ship, my rules! He needs all help he can get, right? Right! So, what are we waiting for!?"

There it was again, this enthusiasm - the need to help.

Dean took a deep breath and looked at Gabriel, the real one. "So, are we all going in or...?"

"Oh, don't mind me!" The Doctor grinned. "Just take down the mental shields of his mind, will you?"

Dean raised one eyebrow but both Gabriels just nodded.

Dean had no time to question the decision that just had been made because suddenly he found himself standing next to Gabriel. They both were surrounded by a dreary ice dessert which seemed to go on and on for miles. Everything was oddly greyish blue and the sky was cloudy. It looked as if it was about to rain - or about to snow. Dean shivered as the keen wind blew over the dry ground and around his feet and hands. He shouldn't be shivering, this was a mind, Cas' mind, actually, he shouldn't _feel_ anything, right? He furrowed his brow and turned to Gabriel but saw the Doctor instead, who was rushing towards them.

"Bit cold, isn't?" The Time Lord asked as he rubbed his hands together in attempt to get them warm.

"Yes, indeed." Gabriel answered as he looked into the distance, his eyes narrowed with concentration.

"So..." Dean began as they started walking. "How did you get here?" He nodded towards the Doctor, who just smiled mysteriously. He was no angel, so he had to have another way to get into people's minds...

"Oh, I think you would say it is my 'alien-mojo'."

Dean huffed but the Doctor didn't answer his question so he just kept quiet. Well, he tried to keep quiet but he was rather nervous because, hello, Lucifer? But, there was no Lucifer, also no Cas. There was no nothing. No nothing for quite a while. They just walked and walked over the dry frozen ground and not even trees where to be spotted.

"Where are we?" Dean finally said, after he couldn't bear the silence any longer. "I mean, I know we are in Cas' mind, but...this, this is not like Cas at all. This is just...nothing."

Gabriel exhaled slowly after taking a deep breath, which was visible in the cold air as he answered, "Yes, you are right. This-" He spread his arms, nearly hitting the Doctor, who was busy minding his own things and looking around the landscape. "- is Castiel's mind." His face darkened."Or, it was." It was only now that Dean noticed that the angel seemed to glow, in fact he looked like a ghost, his skin pale and his pure golden hair and eyes a stark contrast to the dull greyish surrounding. It was almost as if his true form was about to break free, as if Castiel's mind tried to unwrap the human layers and set the real form free. Maybe that was because Castiel, his mind, knew how Gabriel looked like for real, maybe it tried to form him into the shape of the memory that Castiel's mind associated with his name, but maybe it was just an effect of his Grace.

"And, now...?"

Gabriel sighed, "Now, here you see Lucifer's doing. Of course it is Lucifer's doing, who else would choose this landscape... " He shook his head in disapproval "But, this is just a waiting room, you could say. The real shit is somewhere deeper..."

"Deeper..." Dean echoed, feeling stupid for repeating Gabriel's words.

"Oh, oh I see!" The Doctor jumped up and down next to them. "This is not really Castiel's mind, we have to find it in here!"

Gabriel nodded.

"And after we have found it-" The Doctor continued. "- we have to get into his real mind to help him out of his trance like state so he is in charge of his mind again!"

 _Wow_ , Dean thought, _this is a little bit too much_ Inception _here_...

"Very good." Gabriel smiled. "Seems like you're not that stupid after all."

The Doctor grinned from ear to ear, proud to have solved the mystery of their journey.

After that they didn't talk much. Well, Gabriel and Dean didn't talk much, but the Doctor seemed to be fascinated by everything. Oh,look at those stones, and these clouds, and look at the ice and the fucking air and why the fuck didn't he shut up?!

The wind became colder and harsher and Gabriel informed them that this was a sign that they were on the right path. "Lucifer doesn't want us to get near him."

Well, that meant they had to prepare for other things than wind and ice...

Dean had no sense of time, just like back then during his time in the TARDIS. Hours could have passed, days, maybe just minutes, he couldn't tell; the sky didn't get darker, and he didn't get tired. It seemed like an endless loop.

At some point it started to snow, first just a few single snowflakes but soon they couldn't see where they were going.

Dean cursed under his breath but Gabriel was as determined as ever. Maybe because _he_ was able to see through the chaos of snow.

It was when Dean nearly ran against a tree that he noticed that the landscape had changed. More and more trees appeared and soon they walked through a thick forest with trees that were made of ice.

There was no snow coming through the thick treetops, but it was unbelievable cold and Dean was sure that soon his fingers would fall off. He couldn't feel his toes anymore and he was sure that he had already lost his nose because he couldn't feel it either.

The forest was silent and Dean began to miss the sound of the wind. It was too quiet, almost like the forest in Purgatory. Dean's stomach lurched as he thought back at Purgatory; he was out of it, and now he felt like he was back in.

"It really is cold..." The Doctor murmured. He hadn't been saying anything since they had entered the forest. Even he seemed to be uncomfortable...

The trees whispered and it sounded like a silent song, as if they tried to lure them into the darkness of the unknown. Dean felt more than uncomfortable and he had the feeling that the trees were watching them.

It was creepy as fuck.

"Careful." Gabriel warned them. Again, his hair was a stark contrast to the bluish ice of the trees. It was dark in the forest even if everything was made of ice, though that was probably because the leaves prevented the dull light to get through to them. Gabriel, however, seemed to emit enough light to lead them through the darkness.

Something cracked and Dean swirled around to see the Doctor's shocked face. He was pale in the dim light and his eyes seemed too green.

"What was that?" Dean asked, hissed, not daring to raise his voice over a whisper.

"I think something moved..." The Doctor breathed back, his eyes wide as he looked around, a haunted expression on his face.

"The trees..." Gabriel mumbled and pressed his lips together in a thin line. "They try to stop us. We are close."

 _Moving trees?!_ Wow, Lucifer really _was_ creative...

"I can hear them..." The Doctor whispered, and his wide eyes stared into the distanced darkness as if he was actually seeing something there. Dean raised one eyebrow and tried to listen, but he heard nothing. Just the soft noise of leaves made of ice clinking against each other over their heads.

"I don't-" He began but stopped. It had to be a psychic thing, then. The Doctor's alien mojo, probably.

Gabriel's face darkened visibly, "You have to hurry. They have noticed us, _he_ has noticed us. At least me..." He turned around to face the opposite direction. "I'll hold them off, you just hurry."

"But-" Dean began, shaking his head. "- No! Gabriel, this-"

"-Is my brother, fighting us, inside the mind of yet another brother of mine, I am aware of that!" Gabriel hissed back, not looking at them. "I am the only one who can actually do something against him, even if it isn't much, and you are the only one who can help Castiel. So move your bow-legs and do something useful or so help me I am going to throw you through the whole forest if I have to."

There was no time to argue.

Dean knew that this was suicidal. Gabriel was not on full power, and Lucifer had managed to kill his brother even as he had been in charge of his full Grace.

_What happens to you, to your body, if your mind is killed?_

Would you lapse into a coma? Would your body stop working?

"Go!"

The Doctor grabbed Dean by his arm and yanked him through the forest, away from Gabriel. Dean could see massive golden wings, but soon they had left Gabriel behind and the darkness swallowed them whole.

Dean couldn't see much. Bits of glistening trees and ice. Several times he nearly fell because the ground was frozen.

The Doctor was running fast. This time he wasn't talking, and Dean knew that he was afraid.

It wasn't much later that the trees started to lash out at them. Branches of ice and razor sharp leaves cut through their clothes and their skin. Dean had to shield his face with his arm, and soon his jacket was torn. He hissed in pain and could hear the Doctor's sharp breath. They were aware that they left a trail of blood on the dirty ground.

"Keep running!" The Doctor said, not sounding out of breath but in pain. Dean wondered if he even knew if they were on the right way.

Was there even a right way?

It turned out that there _was_ a right way. Dean could...feel it. As if there was a pull, as if he was yanked towards Cas.

They stumbled through the thick forest until the Doctor suddenly stopped. "Dean!", he gasped, and Dean took away his arm from his face.

In front of them was a small clearing. Dim light shone onto the ice, letting it gleam and glisten. Snowflakes flew through the air but they seemed to float instead of being pushed around by the wind. There was a strange atmosphere in the air that Dean couldn't place.

However, the light hadn't been the reason for the Doctor to stop; it was the figure that lay upon a stone table in the middle of the clearing, half covered in snow.

"Cas..." Dean whispered and stumbled over small roots and frozen grass towards Castiel. His legs threatened to give away but he moved on, his eyes firmly fixed on the unmoving body of the angel.

"Dean, don't!" The Doctor hissed, following him with careful steps while looking over his shoulder to make sure that no one and nothing was following them.

The trees didn't move, not yet, and the darkness didn't dare to creep onto the clearing, not while there was light. Though, Dean had the feeling that there was not much time left until the light was gone...

He stopped as he reached the table, his hands shaking because of the cold and because of what he saw; Cas was lying on the stone table, his eyes closed and his hands folded over his chest. He looked as if he was sleeping - or dead. His face was pale and frost pattern covered half of his skin and clothes. Even his lips were pale and without color, and his hair was frosted and oddly dull.

 _Made of ice_ , Dean thought while his heart was hammering inside his chest, _he looks like he's made of ice as well._

Dean couldn't help but notice that this looked like a scene from a fairy tale and he cursed Lucifer for his imagination.

He exhaled slowly to calm himself while reaching out to touch the angel's face, and winced slightly as he felt no warmth.

For how long had he been lying here already?!

Dean cursed again and tried to wriggle his hands under Castiel's shoulders so he could lift him from the table, but he couldn't; it was as if Castiel was glued to the table, and Dean was not able to neither lift nor move Castiel.

"Doc!" The hunter grunted as he desperately tried to move Castiel. "Doc, I need help here!"

He got no response and so he looked up.

He was alone.

The Doctor was gone, and Dean turned his head around to look everywhere for him, but he was no where to be seen. "DOCTOR!"

Still no answer, only his voice echoing through the silence.

Something moved and crunched.

Dean swallowed hard and tried to stay calm but there was a thick lump in his throat and he felt himself panic because he had no weapon, was all alone with an unconscious angel at his side inside the mind of said angel and what the hell was he supposed to do?! No one had told him what to do!

"Cas, wake up!" Dean hissed, trying to shake the angel awake. "Cas! C'mon!"

But he didn't move,didn't wake up, didn't breath, just nothing.

"Castiel!" Dean's voice cracked. "Castiel, wake up! Wake up I say!"

_Stay calm, stay calm!_

Okay, right good...

First he had to analyse the situation; the Doctor was gone, Cas was unconscious, and all in all he was on is own somewhere in Castiel's mind, or rather in the waiting room to his mind.

Right, good, so much for that.

Dean took another deep breath of cold air, and he had the feeling his lungs were burning because of the icy cold air. His face was numb and moving any muscle did hurt.

Okay, so, the Doctor had said that they needed to go deeper...

But how?

How was he supposed to enter Castiel's real mind? He had no freaking mojo, had no freaking mind-powers, no nothing!

_He needs you..._

Dean swallowed hard and coughed; the cold air was eating him from the inside out and he couldn't feel most of his body anymore.

He had seen tons of movies about mind-powers and mind control, and Hell, he had experienced more of that sort of things than he liked, so now it was to him to try to enter another mind. Fact was, he was already inside the mind, he just had to go deeper.

Meant he had to concentrate.

He literally had no clue what to do, so he decided to trust his instincts, because that was what you do in these situations, right?

And it always works...at least in movies.

He closed his eyes and leaned forward, his breath steady as he pressed his forehead against Castiel's. It was like pressing your head against cold stone.

"Okay.." He rasped, his voice rough from the cold air. "I have no idea how to do this but..." He trailed off. Somewhere in the distance a shout was to be heard and the branches of the trees rustled in the upcoming wind. Behind closed lids Dean noticed that the light had dimmed, and he knew, just knew, that he had to hurry.

"Here we go..." He joked, but actually he felt sick and not like joking at all, because this really was a dead or alive situation.

Not that that was something new to him.

Didn't mean that he liked it, though.

And you never get used to that feeling, of being afraid to fail, afraid to loose someone you love, afraid you might die, both of you.

Dean pressed his numb lips together and waited.

Nothing happened.

Okay, that was alright, that just meant he had to try harder...

And he did.

He did try; he tried to imagine a way, imagined walking straight into Cas' head, you could say. He was reaching out, mentally, and okay, Dean felt really weird trying to do mental stuff, but he had to try, right?

In the end he couldn't really remember how he had managed it.

It just...happened.

One second ago he stood over Castiel, the next he stood inside a doorway.

He immediately remembered the room. Wasn't hard to remember a mental hospital ward, right?

Especially when the person you were looking for sat with the back to you in the exact same way you remembered them sitting there, the same way you remember the whole scene.

Dean's stomach rebelled again and he felt his heart ache just by the sight of Cas sitting there, lost and alone, at the white table in the white room.

It was oddly silent. Usually you could her noises from outside, or some nurses or other patients, but nothing like that here. Just silence.

Dean shivered and rubbed his hands together. He wasn't cold anymore.

The hunter exhaled slowly and began his way towards the angel. He didn't know what to say, didn't know if Cas did know that he was here. But, usually you should notice if someone was inside your mind, right?

Dean closed his eyes for a few minutes before rounding the table to sit down on the chair opposite of Castiel.

Actually he had opened his mouth to say something, but the words got stuck inside his throat as he saw the person sitting in front of him.

This was not Castiel.

Well, it was.

But not really.

Castiel's eyes were half-lidded and dull, lifeless, and he seemed to look right through Dean, not even noticing him. His hands lay folded on his lap and his breath was calm and even, though a bit weak.

He seemed out of it, totally far away, as if he wasn't there at all. As if he _wasn't_ at all.

"Cas." Dean said.

Castiel didn't respond but somehow that didn't surprise Dean.

"Castiel, hey." He reached over the table for one of Castiel's hands. It was cold,like the skin of the Castiel on the stone table, and again he showed no reaction in any way.

"Castiel!" Dean said, again, his voice firm. No need to be gentle here, that was of no use; if he wanted to get Cas out of whatever he was in then he had to be rough. That always worked.

Mostly.

"Castiel, look at me!" It was a demand.

Castiel's pale blue eyes shifted and focused on Dean. He opened his mouth to let out a soft sigh. He held Dean's gaze, but he still wasn't really looking at him.

"Castiel, hey. You hear me?"

The angel nodded slowly.

"Okay, good,that's good." Dean rubbed his face with his free hand. "Listen, you're in deep trouble, alright? Guess you know that already but-"

"I am sorry." Castiel said, and Dean winced at the evenly voice.

"Sorry?" He asked, confused, because what was Castiel sorry for?

"I am sorry." The angel said, again, with no emotion in his voice.

Dean's brow furrowed and he tightened his grip on Castiel's hand, leaning closer to look at Castiel. "Hey. Hey!" He looked into Castiel's eyes, trying to meet his gaze, but Castiel continued to look through him.

"What are you sorry for, Cas? Hm?"

The angel was quiet for a few minutes until he spoke again, "I am sorry."

Dean's stomach clenched and he felt even sicker than before.

_No, no, fuck it!_

"Lucifer..." He mumbled. "This is one of his games, right? He did that to you, didn't he?"

Castiel was quiet.

Dean growled in anger as he leaned back, letting go af Castiel's hand.

He should have known that Lucifer had planned something, done something, and now he was here, totally unprepared.

"Cas, listen..." Dean began ,slowly. Castiel turned his head slightly, but it was an odd and alien gesture. It just looked wrong. "Cas, do you know where you are?"

Castiel kept staring at him without blinking, and it began to look creepy. "I am in a mental hospital." He said, casually."You brought me here."

Dean cursed inwardly but forced himself to smile. "Well, see, that is the point, you are not in a mental hospital..."

Castiel kept staring.

"Please go now." He suddenly said. "I don't want to talk to you today."

That was like a fist into his face. Dean tried to stay calm and collected but it became more and more difficult with each passing minute.

"Why?" He asked, slowly. He had to be careful because it seemed that Castiel would only answer to certain questions. "Why do you want me to go? Did I do something to you?"

Castiel just kept staring.

Dean took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Alright, so, it was his fault? Was Castiel angry at him? Or, was it really him he was angry at...?

"Cas, how long have you been here?"

Castiel tilted his head, and again it looked oddly wrong. "Eight months."

_Eight months..._

Too long. Almost as long as the months he had spent outside the ward together with Dean and Sam in the real world...

"Permanently?"

Castiel was quiet. Dean took that as a 'yes'.

Dean assumed that the sense of time was different here, or at least he hoped that was the case, because otherwise that would mean that Castiel had spent most of his time together with Dean and Sam inside the mental hospital that Lucifer had created inside his head.

_Lucifer..._

"Cas, say..." Dean began, carefully. "Do you know who I am?"

Castiel, again, said nothing.

Okay, that could mean two things; either he knew that he was Dean, the real Dean, or he thought he was Lucifer, disguised as Dean.

Somehow Dean had the feeling it was the last one.

Dean pressed his lips together; okay, good, other questions, then...

"Why are you sorry?" He asked, bluntly.

He had to know.

Castiel was quiet.

"Cas,-" Dean stood up and couldn't help but notice that Castiel flinched slightly; was he expecting an attack? The hunter walked up to Castiel and crouched down next to his chair, like a parent would do with a small child. "I did hurt you, didn't I?"

Castiel hesitated, then he nodded slowly. He wasn't looking at Dean.

"I am still hurting you."

Castiel nodded, again.

"And you want it to stop..."

Castiel's eyes flickered towards him, but he didn't nod. Dean swallowed and nodded slowly.

"Okay...Okay, well..."

What was he supposed to say? Cas wouldn't believe him if he told him he was real, Lucifer must have told him the same over and over again while being Dean.

No, there had to be another way.

"Cas, I want you to tell me something." Dean looked up to meet Castiel's blank stare.

"Why are you here? I mean, what was the reason that..." He stopped and had to fight the urge to stop his sentence. "Why did I put you in here?"

Castiel stared at him, maybe wondering why he was asking those questions, probably thinking that it was another one of Lucifer's ways to torture him by using his emotions. Maybe that was why he was so cold; because he had finally realized that he had too much heart, and that it brought him nothing but pain.

"Redemption."

Dean blinked. "Wha...No, wait. Wait, hold on." He stood up and Castiel followed his movements with his eyes, waiting for Dean's next move. The angel never tensed up, never blinked, he just waited, as if he was waiting for the final blow, too tired of fighting.

Because he had been fighting, for eight months, without a result.

Dean rubbed his face with both of his hands while he muttered to himself. Castiel never said anything, only if he was asked, and so they spent several minutes in silence.

"You do know that I forgave you, right? For what you've done?"

Castiel's cold and dull eyes seemed to stare right into him now, and it was an uncomfortable feeling, so unfamiliar, not like all those other times when Castiel had looked at him as if he knew Dean's soul by his heart, no; this time there was nothing in his gaze, and this emptiness seemed to pour into Dean now, as if Castiel _was_ an empty void. As if there was nothing left to give.

"You don't need redemption, Cas! And, the fuck, even if you want your damn redemption, do you think you could find it _here_? In a mental hospital, sulking?" Dean leaned onto the table, his eyes holding Castiel's empty stare and fighting the emptiness inside. "This is not real! You're wasting your time! This here, _this_ \- " He tapped his index-finger onto the table plate, mainly to get Cas' attention back because now he seemed slightly nervous and his eye had flickered to the side of the table, "- it's inside your mind, so there is no one here who needs to forgive you, except you yourself!" He took a deep breath and leaned backwards, his hands still on the table. "Because you won't be able to start your fucking redemption if you can't forgive yourself..."

Castiel's eyes were on his hands in his lap, his brow was furrowed and there was a gleam, a soft gleam, behind his eyes, somewhere inside there, fighting the darkness. Dean could see it.

"How...Am I able to forgive myself...?" The angel asked, his voice low and almost a whisper.

Dean rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in the air, startling Castiel, "Man, sorry, but you're asking the wrong person!"

Castiel's brow furrowed even more and Dean could see that he was trying to come up with an own idea, that he was actually trying now to fight. That he tried to understand..

"Look." Dean grabbed Cas' shoulder, and this time the angel flinched slightly, but Dean didn't let that bother himself. "You just...You have to accept it, okay? What you have done, all the shit, and I mean everything, you have to accept it, as a part of yourself, because otherwise it will haunt you forever!"

Castiel's eyes lit up, and he opened his mouth just to close it again. There he was again, the Cas Dean knew, and the hunter smiled slightly to encourage the angel to do the right thing, whatever that was.

Suddenly the room began to shake. The windows shattered, the floor broke, and the walls fell into tiny pieces. Like during an earthquake, just a bit worse.

Dean's eyes widened and he looked around, shocked to see that there was nothing left of the room, nothing left of the hospital; in fact, everything was gone. There was nothing now, just blackness, emptiness, and all the while Castiel kept staring at him.

"Cas, what-" Dean turned his head to look at Castiel, but Castiel was gone - or at least he wasn't were he had been before. To be accurate, Dean was not where he had been mere minutes ago, either; he now stood in the middle of the clearing, his head bowed against Castiel's forehead, and the bitter coldness hit him with full force.

Dean gasped and staggered backwards, shivering as his feet sunk into the layer of snow. He could barely move his legs and his limbs felt stiff and frozen."Cas?"

Castiel was still lying on the table, but his eyes were open now, however, he wasn't seeing Dean nor was he aware of his surroundings or anything else. He seemed to look at something that Dean couldn't see, and from time to time his eyes lit up, as if the Grace inside him was a fire trying to survive the blows of a harsh wind.

Dean was about to move but then everything began to shake and the trees burst one after another, and Dean had to raise his arms to avoid being hit by the sharp pieces of ice which where thrown through the air like bullets.

"What the Hell?!" He gasped, too startled to say or do much more.

Luckily, he was not alone.

"Dean!"

The hunter looked up to see the Doctor running towards him, his arms raised over his head to shield himself. He was bleeding from several cuts and it seemed that he had been fighting against something, because bruises were visible on his jaw and his clothes were slightly torn and askew, as if someone or something had tried to pull at him.

"We have to get out of here!"

Oh, yes, that was probably a good idea.

The Doctor grabbed Dean by his hands and tried to look at him, but the icy splinters and the sudden increase of the wind made it difficult to look at each other, and trying to understand each other was almost impossible.

"We have to get Cas!" Dean screamed against the wind. "He won't move!"

The Doctor shook his head, and his hair was blown into his face but he couldn't care less about that right now. "No! He belongs here, that's alright!"

Dean's eyes narrowed even more, making it almost impossible to actually see the Doctor. "What do ya mean, belongs here?! Don't you see that this place is collapsing!? He'll die!"

The Doctor shook his head again, his eyes tightly shut against the wind and ice. "The dream dies when the dreamer awakes!"

"What?!" Dean shouted over the wind. "What the fuck does that mean!?"

The Doctor opened his eyes and tightened his grip around Dean's hands. "This is an illusion, a dream! If we don't get out before Castiel awakes we'll die with the dream!"

Dean kept staring at the Doctor.

"You did your job, Dean! He's waking up! Now it's on him to fight because this is his fight, not ours!" The Doctor clearly had difficulties to raise his voice against the storm.

"No!" Dean took a few steps back but the Doctor pulled him closer again, stubbornly refusing to let him go. "I can't let him fight this on his own! I have to help him!" The hunter turned his head to look at the angel but he could barely see him through the ice and snow, a blurry shape was all he could make out.

The Doctor stepped closer and reached out, clasping Dean's head with his hands on either side and forcing him to look at the other man.

"That would be suicide!" Dean tried to hold the gaze but the mismatched eyes of the Doctor seemed to burn right into him, and Dean knew that what he was saying was true, but he couldn't leave Cas alone with Lucifer...

"Close your eyes!" The Doctor screamed, not letting go of Dean's head. "Close your eyes and imagine a way-" He was cut off by the wind and a loud bang and Dean couldn't understand anything that he was saying after that.

"I can't hear you!" He yelled, but his words were swallowed by the wind.

It was then that the ground broke away, and they were falling, falling, and Dean screamed in surprise because usually grounds don't break away.

He was sure he would have gone lost, would have died with the dream as the Doctor put it, if he had been alone. But the Doctor was there, and the Doctor was there to help, and so was the inside of the TARDIS the next thing Dean saw when he opened his eyes.

...

He stared into the darkness, but he felt nothing.

Nothing, until he saw them, lurking in the shadows, waiting for him.

They were looking at him, and each and everyone of them was angry - at him.

Though, who wasn't angry at him?

 _"You did this..."_ One of them whispered, the one that had been the vessel for oh so many leviathans.

 _"You did this to us."_ Another whispered, the one from the future, the one Dean had seen.

 _"We are here because of you..."_ A tired one whispered, the one that had been found again after he had been lost for one year.

 _"How could you do this to yourself?"_ The brightest of them asked, the one that was still pure and strong.

 _"Don't you hate yourself?"_ Asked the one that had been God. _"Don't you hate what you have become?"_

 _"You could have been so much more!"_ Another cried out. _"You could have been beautiful!"_

_"You could have saved everyone!"_

_"You should have known!"_

_"You should have been wiser!"_

The harsh words rained down on him, threatening to suffocate him, and his heart felt heavy as he heard all those words.

Because they were true.

 _"I hate you!"_ He screamed, and he looked like Jimmy. _"This was not what I wanted!"_

They merged now, into one, into the ultimate misery that Castiel's life had become. It was like looking into a distorted reflection of his past self, of every Castiel he had ever been.

They were crying now, angry as they were, their eyes blazing with anger and hurt.

_"I hate you! This is your fault! This is all your fault!"_

"I am sorry." Castiel whispered, and he meant it, but they laughed at him, their black veined eyes and pale face showing their disgust.

It was weird, to see himself staring at him, though it was just the vessel, which was now his own body. He was bound to it, and to be honest, quite fond of it, too.

Sure, he still had his real form, but his real form couldn't be turned back into what it once had been; he couldn't heal it like he could heal the broken skin and scars of his vessel, because his Grace was the essence of his being, and his being was far from being as pure as it should be.

He preferred his vessel now, because it felt right, wearing this body, because he felt like he was himself when he was inside it - and he felt closer to Dean.

Yes, Castiel couldn't look at his true form without being disappointed with himself, but the layer of his vessel was like a covering made of skin and bones, something that seemed to protect him from his real self, a disguise that he had grown comfortable wearing as his own skin.

That was why he wasn't seeing his real self here, judging him, because he no longer cared about how his real form looked like since it was lost forever - but his vessel, his vessel could always show him how inhuman he had made his vessel, or even how much of a failure of a human he could have become and still _could_ become.

He had done so much wrong being inside this vessel, being this person called Cas.

It also showed him that he wasn't able to be who he wanted to be.

What he wanted to be even he himself couldn't tell, but he knew that it was nothing of what he saw in front of himself now.

 _"Sorry, sorry! Sorry is for nothing!"_ They screamed, and the darkness became darker and their anger grew like angry black flames around them. _"You will never be able to pay for your sins, you will never be able to receive forgiveness, you will never be able to be free!"_

He felt his heart being crushed little by little and every word did hurt more and more, but he knew that he had to get through it. He had to hear those words, out of his own mouth, because only then would be able to accept them.

Only then he would be able to take one more step towards his redemption.

"You are right!" He said, his voice stronger now. "This is my fault, and there is no one else to blame! Just me!"

They hissed at him, the darkness floating around them like a snake.

They looked sad, disappointed, full of rage and hate, everything he felt for himself and more. They felt what he expected others to feel when they saw him, and even Dean's soothing words had never managed to make him believe that everything was alright, because for sure Dean was feeling hate somewhere in the back of his mind, and he would never be able to forget.

Forgetting was no option.

What happened had happened.

He had to look at his future now, that was what was important.

And if he really wanted Dean, and all those others, to forgive him, then he had to earn it, and he wouldn't be able to earn forgiveness and trust if he was caught in a web of his own emotions towards himself.

"I cannot ask for forgiveness...Not even myself." He took a deep breath and straightened his back, holding gaze with the man in front of him who was everything he never wanted to be. "But others are able to accept that what I did was wrong, and they are able move on. And so am I."

They hissed a laughter as they moved forward, floating over the ground that wasn't there as if they were a part of the darkness.

 _"Never!"_ They screamed, and it was the glass-shattering voice of his true self. _"You will never be able to forgive us!"_

Castiel didn't move when they threw out the angel blade, their blue eyes blazing like a fire storm as they rushed towards him. There was a snarl on their lips and they raised their arm, the blade oddly bright in the darkness of his mind.

It didn't hurt when the blade pierced through his heart. He felt nothing, not even a sting or any sorts of pain. The steel was cold against his skin and the inside of his flesh, and the coldness tried to spread inside, tried to take over like a fire, but he fought it back without blinking.

Blood was pouring out of him but it didn't stain his clothes, instead it disappeared after it had poured out of him, as if the darkness was sucking it up.

They looked at him, their fiery ice wide in surprise.

 _"How...?"_ They echoed, their voice a mixture of several voices.

Castiel smiled almost kindly as he grabbed the hands of them. They tried to pull away, disgust visible on their face again, but he held onto their hands and didn't let them go.

"I told you already." Castiel began, soothingly, his voice calm and collected because he was fully in control of himself again.

"I told you that I accept what I did." His smile softened. "What _you_ did."

They hissed in anger and pulled harder, but they seemed weaker now, and it frightened them.

"You can't hurt me any longer. You did hurt me, a long long time, but it is enough for now. I don't need the pain anymore. I know that now."

They shook their head, their eyes wide. Castiel could see the single black veins under their eyes and the dirty brown hair on their head stuck up to all sides. Their coat was torn and bloody and the tie was missing. They looked miserable and Castiel felt sorry for them. However, he knew that they didn't deserve any better.

 _"That's not true!"_ They hissed. _"You need us! You need us to remember! Without us you will forget!"_

Castiel laughed softly and closed his eyes.

"No." He whispered. "How could I ever forget what I have done? No, I will not forget." He opened his eyes again and they flinched as they saw the determination behind them. "That is a promise."

They hesitated, their brow furrowed as they looked at the ground and back up at him. _"You'll make them again, those mistakes!"_

The angel smiled. "Never again, I promise."

They looked surprised, startled, and slowly their face began to soften and all tension was gone.

Relief made them smile, and they closed their eyes and stopped fighting him _. "That's nice."_

Then they exploded into light, blue and white sparks flying through the air, and the darkness was gone.

He stood in the middle of a white room now but slowly it changed, and trees and the outline of mountains became visible. Before he knew what was happening he was lying on a stone table in the middle of a clearing. It was oddly silent and only the rustle of leaves was to be heard. He blinked in confusion and swung his legs over the edge of the table after sitting up.

Someone clapped his hands behind him and Castiel jumped up and turned around.

He wasn't surprised to see Lucifer leaning against a tree. He had a smug smile on his lips but Castiel could easily see that he was angry. Angry, because Castiel had actually managed to get his way out of the deepest and darkest corner of his mind.

"I am impressed. Didn't think you would get out of that." Lucifer admitted, but he sounded everything else than impressed.

Castiel stared at him grimly before he raised his head and expanded his wings. Now Lucifer's eyes widened and his arms dropped to his sides as he stared at the pair of six mismatched wings.

"Those bastards..." He mumbled and grinned sourly. This hadn't been a part of his plan.

Castiel's grin widened and he felt a rush of power.

Yes, Lucifer wouldn't have thought that his brothers would give Castiel their remaining Grace, including their wings.

Gabriel's one third had been a lost case anyway, and he had used to opportunity of being inside Castiel's mind to mend himself with Castiel's Grace. Of course it wasn't Gabriel himself who was bound to Castiel's Grace now, it was mere the small one third and his lost wings. There wouldn't have been a way to fit his Grace together again, it was to torn at the edges, but it was enough to fit together with Castiel's already damaged Grace.

The only side effect it would cause was that he would have a stronger bond with Gabriel - if he survived this fight.

Balthazar had know that he wouldn't survive on his own, it had been clear from the beginning, and the only way to keep him alive was to bind himself to Castiel's Grace in order to feed him with energy.

Castiel wasn't sure of it was only temporary, he had no intention of eating souls or Grace _again_ , but he knew that it made him an equally strong opponent to Lucifer, and he had to be at least as strong as Lucifer to defeat him.

 _Maybe I will be able to return it_ , he thought as he stared at Lucifer, _Gabriel's Grace. And I am sure we can find a body for Balthazar, even though I fear his Grace is lost. I can barely feel it within mine, and the only real thing that it gave me were his wings._

Lucifer snickered darkly as he pushed himself away from the tree. The sun shone bright and his wings glowed in a golden hue as he expanded them.

They were white. Most people would think they were black or red or torn and bloody, but they were the most beautiful wings Castiel had ever seen. They were made of pure silvery white feathers which seemed to be made of crystal, and every single one of them glowed with a hue of golden Grace.

There were reasons why he was called the Morning Star.

Castiel could remember that Gabriel once had told him that Lucifer liked to change the color of his wings, but in the end it were always the pure white ones you would see if you faced him in a battle.

 _"They once were pink."_ Gabriel voice echoed inside Castiel's mind. _"You should have seen father's face."_

Castiel's six wings didn't match at all. The golden ones of Gabriel were too huge, that was why they were the last pair at the end. Balthazar's wings were a bluish grey with a soft orange hue, and they as well were bigger than Castiel's, which was why they came right after Gabriel's. Castiel knew that his real form had to look like a crazy quilt made of golden, blue and orange colored Grace, and he wondered what he looked like now to the other angels.

"You do know that you don't have the slightest chance against me? Even if you're all powered up on Grace." Lucifer smiled.

Castiel didn't answer, instead he surged forward without a warning, his angel blade in his hand.

Lucifer chuckled before he let go of the illusion of his vessel, finally showing his true form.

It always stuck Castiel how bright and blindingly beautiful he was, but right now he didn't care.

Right now, all he wanted to be was free.


	26. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_This is the end._

_I am going to die._

_Fuck._

_I don't want to die, not here!_

_..._

_I wonder what Sammy's gonna do._

This, or something like this, had been Dean Winchester's thoughts while falling down into the darkness.

However, Dean Winchester was very much alive.

The hunter jolted upright and swallowed hard as he blinked in confusion. The TARDIS looked familiar and the white of the medical bay, which he still didn't like, seemed to be much warmer than the phantom coldness he had felt while being inside Castiel's head.

Immediately Dean straightened his back and looked around to make sure that everyone was safe and sound.

The Doctor sat in his chair with his chin propped on his chest, his eyes closed and his features soft, like a sleeping child. He wasn't awake yet, and it worried Dean, because if the Doctor was dead because he had saved Dean instead of saving himself...Dean hastily jerked his head to his side. Gabriel's eyes were closed too, though his face seemed more stern, concentrated. At least he was breathing, so he should be alright...Right?

Last but not least his eyes travelled to Castiel's pale face. The angel hadn't moved one bit, still didn't, and Dean felt his stomach clench with fear and worry.

He was awfully pale in the harsh light of the neon lamps.

Dean himself was alright. He had a little headache but felt no other pains, and the coldness was gone for good.

Still, nothing was alright...

"Oh look at you." Dean's head shot up and he turned around to face...

"What?" Balthazar asked, and there was the annoyed undertone that he always had in his voice when he spoke to Dean or Sam, or anyone who wasn't himself.

Dean just gaped.

"Yes, I know, I am dead, don't remind me, please."

Dean stood up and looked from Balthazar to Gabriel and back again. "Did he-"

Balthazar waved off as he strode past Dean to admire the glass cabinets of the medical bay. "Nah, Gabby is not involved in this." He made a swift hand movement down his body. "In fact, I have to thank Cassie and him." The angel nodded towards the Doctor, who was still asleep.

Dean furrowed his brow while he tried to understand what was going on.

Balthazar had been killed. Castiel had killed him. An angel blade usually kills and angel, if he's not a mad trickster who has enough Grace to rip one third apart...

"I _am_ still dead." Balthazar answered before Dean could ask, and Dean had the feeling that the slick bastard was reading his mind. Balthazar just grinned, and Dean sent him a mental _'fuck you, asshole'._

He got a smirk as reply.

"Well, little peasant, maybe you have noticed that I am not fully myself."

First Dean didn't know what Balthazar was talking about, had he lost a toe or what, but then he saw it; Balthazar seemed a bit transparent, like one of these holograms in movies, and from time to time his connection seemed a bit weak because his appearance flickered and wavered several times during their talk as if there wasn't enough juice to stabilize him.

"I don't understand..." Dean began, and Balthazar sighed loudly and annoyed. It sounded a bit hollow and Dean was sure he could hear the crackling of statics.

"You never understand anything, do you?"

Dean chose not to answer because that would give Balthazar another opportunity to throw his sass around.

Instead he raised one eyebrow.

Balthazar rolled his eyes and sat down on the edge of one of the nearest steel tables which stood around.

"I am a thought. Remnants of a mind. This, here, this is nothing but transfered memory."

Dean crossed his arms and kept staring.

Balthazar rolled his eyes again and continued.

"The Doctor was able to grab my dying piece of Grace before the illusion broke down and he threw me into the TARDIS, well, he bound the rest of me to the TARDIS, my thoughts, my mind...But I, my Grace, my being, I am dead. I wasn't strong enough to exist on my own anymore and that's why I had to be bound to the TARDIS and her energy so that I could transfer my memories into her system in order for a small part of me to remain in this realm. I am just a shadow, you could say." He shrugged. "Or an echo. However, there is nothing alive about me. Actually the TARDIS is using me, the memories, to transfer the picture, the body, as a hollogram in order to talk to you."

Dean stared.

"You _are_ the TARDIS now?" He asked, with disbelieve.

Balthazar coughed awkwardly. "Don't be stupid! Of course I am not the TARDIS, I am...a part of it now, you could say. A way to communicate..."

"Something like the holy spirit of the TARDIS?" Dean asked. "Like..."

"No-" Balthazar answered dryly. "No, I am just memories."

Dean shrugged. "Oh."

"Ah, and, Dean?" Balthazar stood up and walked closer to Dean, who remained still.

"Yeah?" The hunter swallowed nervously.

"Stop being a crying bitch and go tell the others that you're alright." And with that, Balthazar, his memories, the TARDIS, disappeared again, but Dean was sure he would come back as soon as he was needed.

...

Usually there was no good end.

Things almost always, no, scratch that, _always_ , ended up in a big mess.

Dean had been sure this time it would be the same.

But he was wrong.

This one time, everything was okay.

As okay as it could be, at least.

The Doctor was alright, Gabby was alright - even if he still wasn't, and would never be, on full mojo - and Cas...

Well, Cas was alright, too.

Cas was awake. Cas was himself. Cas had won.

There had been no big light, no Grace, just open eyes and a small smile.

"Hello, Dean." His voice had been rough and tired but he was there.

Dean had known that it was Cas.

This one time, everything was good, and it felt fucking wonderful.

They decided to spend some time with the Doctor and Sherlock, and even Gabriel stayed for a while. He was, however, the first to leave.

"I have better things to do than staying around a bunch of idiots." He claimed, but there was a smile on his lips. Dean knew that Gabriel liked them all, even the Master.

"There is one thing I should do, however." The archangel said as he walked up towards the Master, who eyed him with wary eyes and nearly backed away - would have backed away if the Doctor wouldn't have stopped him by grabbing his arm to steady him. "You probably don't deserve this, and you know it, but maybe it'll help you to gather up your shit and start anew."

It was a simple gesture, two fingers against the Master's forehead. The Time Lord winced, almost as if he was expecting a blow or pain, but his scrunched up face turned from a grimace of breathless anticipation into an expression of surprise and...relief?

Dean didn't know what exactly Gabriel had done, but he could remember that the Master's wide eyes as he whispered, "They are silent..."

He never told them what he meant, but the Doctor seemed to know, because his eyes were wide with disbelieve and his smile turned into one of honest gladness. Whatever it had been that Gabriel had cured, it must have been something that had bothered the Master for years.

"Just don't bother me anymore." Was what Gabriel said as the Doctor thanked him for the fifth time in a row. "Let me be, and watch out for that hobo. Don't want him to nearly destroy the universe again."

Yes, in the end, Gabriel liked all of them, though, of course, he would never admit that.

...

The TARDIS was even bigger than Dean would have thought, and the days they spent inside the ship were never boring. Dean had to say that it had been a long time ago since laughing so much in a short period of time.

They used the pool, the library, they took a look at the biggest wardrobe Dean had ever seen and Dean and Sam even dressed up in the Doctor's clothes - although Sam wasn't too fond of that idea at first, but in the end they all managed to persuade him.

Even Sherlock had laughed, and Dean was sure he had never seen him laughing like this. He seemed so carefree and ...human, and once again Dean was reminded of the fact that Sherlock _was_ human, and had his soul back.

"Bow ties are cool." Dean had to admit, as he looked down at himself wearing the Doctor's clothes, and the Doctor grinned from ear to ear. He even gave Dean one of his bow ties.

From time to time, Balthazar materialized, and all he ever did was throwing his sass and cheeky comments around, so even if all he was was a hologram program build on the memories of Balthazar, he was very much real to them.

The Doctor wasn't bothered by him, the Master, though, was. Dean was sure there would be a lot of fighting between those two, and he already felt sorry for the poor Doctor to endure it all, but with Sherlock at his side he would be able to manage them.

Dean was glad for the time he was able to spend with those crazy idiots, and he felt alright.

He felt good.

However, they had to go eventually.

Family business was calling.

They had to keep saving people and hunting things, after all.

"You can always come back." The Doctor said as he was leading them towards the doors to the outside world. Dean silently wondered how much time had passed, but, did that even matter? "Call me, us, maybe, if you have time for a little chat or a small adventure..."

Sam laughed at that, really laughed. "I think we have enough of big adventures for now, but thanks."

Dean could only agree with that.

For now, hunting demons and other sons of bitches was what they had to do. That, at least, was easier than saving the whole world, again.

The Doctor smiled but Dean couldn't help but see the sadness behind his eyes, almost as if he was sure he would never see them again. Like all those others that had left him.

It broke Dean's heart a little bit and that was why he clasped the Doctor's shoulder and grinned. "Hey, grandpa Time Lord. We'll call. Might take some time, but we won't forget ya, kay?"

Because, how could they forget him, after he had saved their lives?

"And, you'll call if you need any help!" He added. Because even the Doctor needed help sometimes.

The Doctor smiled, almost embarrassed or so it seemed, and nodded. "Okay." He breathed, and Dean could see the relief on his face.

He really had lost a lot of people, hadn't he? Because Dean knew that look, and he knew that feeling, and all in all he could understand the Doctor better than he would have thought in the beginning of their adventure.

The Master didn't say goodbye and the Doctor apologized for his rude behavior. "He'll probably never change." He sighed, but there was no regret in his voice, it was more a sort of acceptance.

The Master had been on his own most of the time. _"He has to get used to it."_ The Doctor always answered when someone asked where the Master was.

 _"Getting used to what?"_ They would ask.

_"The drums."_

The Doctor never told them what the drums were or what they had done to the Master. _"You know, I think it's something he should tell you."_ And it was kind of a big deal if the Doctor didn't talk about something, because usually he never really stopped talking, if he was in a good mood.

And he was in a good mood, the Doctor.

The Master, though, had only joined them a few times, and most of those times he had been mumbling to himself or complained about the others.

Dean still didn't like him a lot -yes, he still wasn't over the whole 'kidnapping the Doctor and destroying the universe' thing- and actually the Master really hadn't been less of an ass, but the Doctor asked them to ignore his rude words.

 _"He really is a kind soul."_ He had said. _"It's just...He's not good at showing it."_

Well, in Dean's opinion he was and would always be a maniac, but of course he never said that aloud when the Doctor was around.

"Do you think you'll come along, the both of you?" Dean wanted to know before he opened the door. "After everything..."

The Doctor chuckled softly and this time it seemed to reach his eyes. "Yes. Yes, I think we'll get along. We have to, after all..." He smiled, and it looked a bit sad. " I have Sherlock, though! He will have to stop us from fighting."

And Dean somehow knew that the Doctor was trying to say.

They would try to get along, but it wouldn't be easy. Had never been easy. The Doctor was prepared for it, and ,well, it would be a lot of work, but at least he wasn't alone anymore, even if just for a while.

 _One thing was sure_ , Dean thought while watching the Doctor as he hugged Sam awkwardly, _They will always fight each other_.

Of course he couldn't say anything about them, he knew that well but not good enough, but there was this feeling, and all these looks they shared, the way they spoke, and the fact that the Master had been in love with the Doctor but wasn't anymore, or something like that. It was complicated, but then again, was it ever easy?

"Alright, buddy." He gave Sherlock a nod, who raised his hand in return to wave goodbye. "Maybe we'll see each other again." The hunter said but the detective laughed. "I don't think so, it is very unlikely. But... "He paused and smiled. His eyes were bright and the smile was even brighter. "Maybe?"

Sherlock really was a good guy and Dean felt sorry for him, because Sherlock still didn't know about John. The hunter gave the Time Lord a quick glance, but said Time Lord just shook his head ever so slightly; not now, not the right time.

Dean agreed.

Though he knew that it was pointless to postpone the truth, but he also knew that sometimes it was worth it. Sherlock didn't know, Sherlock had to know, but there was no need to let him know about it just now.

The Doctor would need their help again, Dean was aware of that fact. He was aware that the Doctor and Sherlock would have to deal with a demon, eventually. He knew that it would be one big mess.

But that was the future, right?

And if there was one thing that Dean knew then it was to live the moment.

Because, there was always the possibility of dying today, right?

Right.

They waved goodbye as the TARDIS dematerialized and they stood there for a few minutes, just standing there and thinking of the things they had gone through together with the Time Lords and the detective.

"I kinda liked him." Sam said, thoughtfully staring at the place where the TARDIS had been. "The Doctor, I mean. And the other two, too..."

Dean smiled slightly. "Yeah, I get what you mean."

He would miss the TARDIS, Dean realized, as they walked along the streets trying find the Impala - the Doctor wasn't very good at parking the ship - however, nothing would beat his baby. He was more than glad to be back inside his car, because flying with the Doctor was close to suicide and even the interiors of the TARDIS couldn't make that any better. No, Dean was glad to have his baby back.

"You are happy." Dean turned his head to see Castiel walking next to him. He looked better now, not as pale anymore, and the dark circles under his eyes were a bit less darker than they had been days ago. He looked healthy again, Dean noticed, healthy and more like himself.

There hadn't been any encounters with Lucifer again. He was gone now, for good, that's what Castiel had told him.

They hadn't talked, not...really. Not about all those things that had happened.

Dean had figured that they both needed a time to think of something else for a while. They would have to talk about it, eventually, hell, they really had to.

But, not today.

Maybe tomorrow.

Cas smiled slightly, and there were those little crinkle at the side of his nose, and it hit Dean that he had missed that smile, that real smile that Cas almost never smiled, had never been smiling the past year. He had missed that, and he was glad to have it back.

Damn, he was glad to have Cas back, the old Cas.

He smiled.

"Yes, Cas. M' more than happy. Actually..." He stretched his arms above his head and grinned. "Actually I feel fucking fantastic."

And it wasn't even a lie.

Because, everything was alright, everything was good, everyone was alive...

It was fucking perfect.

"Ey, Cas, you have to get us back to America."

"Of course, Dean."

"Dean, at least ask him nicely."

"I did ask him nicely, didn't I, Cas?"

"You did."

They went on, talking, searching for the Impala. The weather was cold but Dean couldn't care less.

Castiel smiled slightly. He smiled, but his eyes stayed cold, but Dean didn't see it, because Dean was busy being happy, because Dean Winchester needed to be happy some days, too.

Dean didn't think of John Watson. Not right now. He was aware that John was still out there, possessed, but he also knew that the Doctor would look for him. They would look for him, too, had to. But they had no clue where he was, they had to set things up, maybe asking Garth...

They would look for him when the time was right.

But they would get distracted, as always.

Lucifer smiled, but his eyes stayed cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so , this is it. Yes, I know, I am a terrible human being for leaving it here.  
> However, there might be a sequel, I have some ideas, but I am not 100% sure...
> 
> I have lots to do for school, final exams, so I need the next 3-4 months for school, and I don't think I'll be able to write much, if anything at all (though I will try, of course)
> 
> Thank you all for reading the story, and thanks for all the reviews! (those always help to keep going ;))
> 
> You can check my [tumblr](http://georginoschkavincen.tumblr.com/tagged/au)
> 
> for more information about possible superwholock stories, spn AU's and my art (yeaay)
> 
> See you, maybe

**Author's Note:**

> Timelines:  
> Sherlock: Somewhere before the Fall  
> Supernatural: Somewhere after 7:17  
> Doctor Who: Wibbly Wobbly Timy wimy! Somehwere after series 4, later around/after 5/6 (confusing,I know)


End file.
